


The Malfoy Dynasty

by malfoycouture



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Blink And You Miss It Slash, Blood and Violence, Child Abuse, Death, Het, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Malfoy Manor, Multi, Mythology References, No Incest, No Smut, No Underage Sex, POV Multiple, Power Imbalance, Pre-Maurauders, Prostitution, Rape/Non-con Elements, Secret Society, Sirens, Succubi & Incubi, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threats of Violence, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:41:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 27
Words: 198,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23405452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malfoycouture/pseuds/malfoycouture
Summary: Lucius Malfoy is one year out from starting at Hogwarts.  In the decade since his mother died bearing him, Lucius' father has engaged a series of Muggle-born governess.  The latest of these witches is one Robena March, the fifth in a line inexplicable in light of Abraxas' stance on the matter, although all of Lucius' prior governesses have departed under mysterious circumstances.  Over time, Robena's position within Malfoy Manor becomes increasingly perilous, even as she and Lucius form a tight, familial bond.  Lucius' ideas of love and loyalty are tested time and again, forcing him to choose between the only type of mother he's ever known and a cruel father who nonetheless holds the Malfoy dynasty in his hands, a dynasty born of ancient and sacred blood that Lucius must one day helm.Druella found herself smiling at Robena sympathetically.  “My dear, it’s the Malfoys.  You may fight, you may even land a curse or two, but you don’t get to win.  They didn’t rise to becoming the most dominant pureblood family in wizarding history by being anything less than completely merciless.”
Relationships: Abraxas Malfoy/Original Female Character(s), Cygnus Black/Druella Rosier Black, Cygnus Black/Original Male Character(s), Original Male Character(s)/Original Female Characters, Walburga Black/Abraxas Malfoy
Comments: 20
Kudos: 25





	1. Ch. 1: The Lesson; Ch. 2: Expectations; Ch. 3: As Good As A Galleon

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [For Pure Blood](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7809436) by [malfoycouture](https://archiveofourown.org/users/malfoycouture/pseuds/malfoycouture). 



> Long ago, after the _Chamber of Secrets_ movie came out, in one of his interviews about playing Lucius Malfoy, national treasure and screen god Jason Isaacs said that the Malfoys comprised a long line of generations of cold, brutal fathers raising cold, brutal sons. That quote has always stuck with me because I found it super-accurate; after all, people like Lucius Malfoy don't happen in a vacuum. And it got me thinking, what would that look like? So I meticulously developed and crafted the following head canon: the story of Lucius Malfoy's upbringing, addressing what events would occur to turn a child into someone so cunning, manipulative, and ruthless. 
> 
> If you have read my other big!fic, _For Pure Blood_ , this story should look familiar to you. I realized in writing _For Pure Blood_ (four years ago!), that I had given my Lucius a ton of exposition, so much so that it could evolve into its own story, which it finally has. However, you do NOT need to read _For Pure Blood_ to understand _The Malfoy Dynasty;_ I was careful to make them both stand alone. Also, I intend to turn this work into a trilogy, with the second story covering Lucius' time in Hogwarts, and the third covering what happens thereafter, i.e., marriage to Narcissa, joining the Death Eaters, having Draco, etc. My intention again is to have each of these stories complement the others and yet stand on their own. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I own none of these characters except my OCs. This is set in 1965 and although I tried to stick with book!canon and Potterverse!canon, there's not a ton to work with from this era and so I had to make a whole bunch of shit up. I make no money at this, it is not Official Harry Potter anything. Also, there are spoilers in the comments.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robena March takes her place at Malfoy Manor, starting the tutelage of her charge Lucius Malfoy with a multi-faceted lesson about the manor's owlery. Abraxas Malfoy and Robena take each others' measure in an early contest of wills. Abraxas charges Lucius with keeping tabs on the newest addition to the household, a notion that gives Lucius some concern. Lucius reminisces about his former governesses, ponders their status as Muggleborns, and possible reasons for their departures.
> 
> _In fact, it was only with the greatest surprise that Robena received the Malfoy-sealed envelope that bore the offer via owl post a week after the interview. Of course, Robena immediately accepted. No one said no to the Malfoys._

PART I

ONE: THE LESSON

_I fly high above the ocean, the sun radiating down from above onto my unfurled wings. The air is fragrant with the smell of brine and warm, even at this altitude. The breeze is such that I do not even need to move my wings: I simply soar, watching the water ripple below me. It catches the sun’s rays, seeming to throw off countless sapphires as the waves play and flirt with each other. I bank, coming lower, now seeing dark cliffs of steep rock, the water foaming white as it breaks where stone meets sea. If I stretch my mind, I can see fish below, even an octopus, its ever-probing tentacles sensing the eddying currents and bumbling prey. I see all of it…I know all of it…I am part of it…_

The jangling of her alarm clock jarred Robena March violently from her dream, a flying dream, the best kind, gone irretrievably now. She silenced the clamor after a moment’s clumsy groping with a lazy wave of her wand, blinked twice and opened her eyes. She yawned and looked towards the window of her room. The dim, gray light of early morning showed dully through the leaded panes, a light indicative of a summer that had long since given way to autumn. In this neutral dawn, Robena greeted the seventh day in her new home and her new role as Lucius Malfoy’s governess. 

Muggle parents had raised Robena in a dun-colored townhouse at the end of a cul-de-sac. Their neighborhood looked as if someone had created it with a rubber stamp, block after block of numbing monotony. Hogwarts followed, of course, but even after the grandeur of the castle, calling the formal, imposing homes of the pureblood families she had served since then _home_ had taken some getting used to and Malfoy Manor was the most formal and imposing yet. _Still, what else would you call the place where you rest your head and care for those within?_ Robena reasoned as she swung her legs over the side of the bed and placed her bare feet on the freezing marble floor, _Surely that must be a home, at least, after a fashion._

For now, Malfoy Manor was just a house; only time would tell if it would truly become a home. Nonetheless, Robena could be the first to admit that it was, indeed, an extraordinary house. As nervous as she had felt in starting this new appointment, she quickly found some of the many advantages therein. Never mind the prestige of the family that owned said house and the connections that her new position could lead to in the future, these were obvious. Conversely, Robena was beginning to discover some of the things that an outsider would not consider a given.

First, the house and the grounds fairly crackled with magic. Rumors suggested that the Malfoys had built their stronghold on a convergence of two ley lines, ancient fibers of indomitable magical force that lent their power to whatever stood nearby. Robena did not yet have such passing familiarity with the manor's inhabitants to verify this in asking. However, the ease with which she found she could cast magic, the fortitude of the protective wards, and the plethora of magical plants and creatures she had already noticed upon the estate lent credence to this theory. The idea excited Robena, not just for herself, but for her new charge as well.

Second, even though Robena considered herself a progressive sort of witch, she had to admit that having not one, but multiple house elves only too happy to help at a moment’s notice a strange but not unwelcome luxury. For example, they wouldn't hear of her making her bed. Robena tried the first day, as she had every day since childhood. A friendly if somewhat overzealous representative of their race named Dobby stopped her. 

Although Dobby had found Robena’s attempt to make her own bed charming, he had proscribed the practice, at least as much as a house elf ever could against a witch. He assigned Robena her very own house elf, a female named Bonnsie. Bonnsie didn't talk much, although when placed next to Dobby, any other house elf would seem quiet by comparison. Bonnsie washed and ironed Robena’s clothes and proved quite adept at plaiting and styling Robena’s hair. Even though Robena believed she hardly needed such spoiling, Bonnsie seemed quite content to do it. Robena thus made a guess that Bonnsie had likely performed this task for the late Mrs. Malfoy, and so, without a lady of the house to serve any more, at the very least, Bonnsie wished to keep up her skill. After all, the rest of the household was decidedly male.

Shivering, Robena stood and drew a plaid flannel dressing gown around her before going over to her washstand to freshen up as she considered her new charge. So far, Lucius had presented himself as a polite, courteous, if somewhat reserved child. Robena had expected a spoiled, entitled monster, especially after her experience with Percival Selwyn, the youngest of her previous family’s sons and a complete tyrant, but Lucius’ behavior thus far had been exemplary. Granted, Robena had only been his governess for one week, so who knew? Nonetheless, in her experience, most children given to horrid behavior showed their true colors early. They would test the new authority figure with gnomes in the bathtub, fanged Frisbees for dinner planes, and other such nuisances. Lucius hadn't done anything resembling this. 

Robena often wondered if this reticence and decorum on Lucius' part was secondary to being raised in a rather strict, authoritarian environment. The notion gave rise to those things about Robena’s new assignment that gave her pause. Although she had only met Lucius’ father Abraxas Malfoy once, at the interview, he hadn’t seemed particularly impressed by her. Then again, Robena’s own expectations of the interview had been low. In fact, it was only with the greatest surprise that Robena received the Malfoy-sealed envelope that bore the employment offer via owl post a week after the interview. Of course Robena immediately accepted. No one said no to the Malfoys.

The other piece of the puzzle that Robena could not seem to fit was the fact that surely Abraxas Malfoy had ascertained her blood status in addition to any other background checks he might have undertaken prior to hiring her, or anyone, to care for his sole heir. Perhaps Robena wasn’t giving herself enough credit, but she also couldn’t imagine her resume contained anything formidable enough to make a wizard like him ignore her Muggle parents, and their parents before them, _ad infinatum_. Then again, Robena was merely a governess, another servant within the Malfoy estate, so perhaps her blood status didn’t matter in that context.

 _Typical Ravenclaw, overthinking it,_ Robena chided herself as she picked up a brush and started running it through her long auburn hair. She then performed the requisite wandwork that she had learned her first day at Malfoy Manor to summon Bonnsie. Moments later, Robena heard the soft knock of the elf and let her in. Bonnsie greeted her politely, and then set herself to arranging Robena’s hair into a half-up French braid that kept her hair out of her face while leaving most of it loose. Robena thanked her and Bonnsie curtsied, made sure that Miss didn’t need anything else and Disapparated.

After breakfast, Robena found Lucius in the library, one of her discoveries about Malfoy Manor that made Robena the happiest. The sumptuous space boasted two tiers of shelves with symmetrical carved spiral staircases and a large, red velvet-cushioned bay window overlooking the formal gardens. Oak comprised the banisters, the stairs, and the myriad bookshelves, polished to a high shine. The entire room was one of the best lit in Malfoy Manor, as well as the warmest, both in color and in temperature. It had the added benefit of smelling like old parchment, leather, and wood polish. Put simply, it was wands-down the best room in the house as far as Robena was concerned.

That morning, Lucius surprised Robena by awaiting her at one of the lamp-lit tables, surrounded by books and piles of parchment, his demeanor patient and ready to start. So far, they had spent much of Lucius’ academic time with Robena trying to ascertain what he already knew with the goal of uncovering any knowledge gaps he might possess for a boy of his age and station. Lucius seemed bright and quick-witted, able to answer Robena’s questions and help her craft a curriculum for him, although Robena knew that all of it would need Malfoy Senior’s stamp of approval before she could deliver it.

They worked all the morning and after lunch, Robena excused herself back to her room to write a quick letter to the Selwyn children, as she had promised upon leaving their household two weeks prior. As her quill scratched rapidly over the parchment, Robena found that indeed she had a lot to say and she quickly lost herself in writing.

"Are you going to leave too?" 

Robena looked up with a start. Lucius stood at the doorway to her small room, leaning against the door jamb. This behavior also surprised Robena, as she would have expected him to send a house elf if he needed something. After all, it was what the Selwyns had done, running their house elves ragged fetching Robena for even the most trivial things such as a lost hair ribbon or a newly-found pixie. "I beg your pardon?" Robena asked.

Lucius regarded her for a moment. He was tall for his age of nearly 11 years, only a few inches shorter than Robena herself. However, Lucius was lithe, quick, and graceful where other boys might be just starting into a lanky and awkward phase. Robena surmised that he must have his late mother's appearance, as Lucius had high cheekbones and fine features where his father was chisel-jawed and stern, and had white blond hair where his father's was brighter flax. Lucius didn't answer her directly, but broke his glance to look around the room. "This is where the other ones stayed also, you know," he finally said. 

Robena frowned, wondering if Lucius always acted so obtuse or if he was just testing her. "I'm sure your father put me in the place he found most appropriate," she said carefully. There was really nothing wrong with her room. While it wasn't luxurious by anyone’s estimation, it did have the benefit of a south-facing window, its many diamond panes highly-polished glass often awash with sunlight and a becoming view of the meadow beyond the formal gardens. The room had a braided rag rug, a washstand, a bed, an ancient but serviceable wardrobe (ready once Robena chased out a small Bogart), and the writing desk at which Robena now sat. 

Lucius smiled slightly. "No doubt." Robena thought she could detect just the thinnest underlay of sarcasm, although she couldn't be sure. He continued to stand at the doorway, respectful enough not to come in unless she invited him, even though it was his own house. 

Robena set her quill down now and saw that the ink was dry. Deftly, she folded the parchment into a neat parcel that did not necessitate a seal. She had learned the trick from an old Hogwarts boyfriend named Harris Nedermeyer, whose father trained owls for the post office. Lucius watched her, interest lighting his gray eyes. "How did you do that?" 

Robena smiled as she made out the address to Selwyn Close, but turned her head from Lucius so he couldn't see her face. After all, even though she was starting to warm to Lucius, she must keep her authority intact. One thing that she already liked about Lucius was that he was inquisitive, almost to a fault. She couldn't help but wonder if he would be the first Malfoy in wizarding history to be sorted into Robena’s own house when he went to Hogwarts the following year. Perhaps not, but one could always hope. Robena held the letter up. "It's called Gerard's Fold." 

"Can you teach me?"

Robena tilted her head to the side and looked back at him. "Perhaps. If you show me to the Owlery, that is." Lucius offered his arm with all seriousness, and Robena had to hide another smile. She stood and took his arm with equal solemnity. "And if you ask me politely." 

"Will you please teach me Gerard's Fold, Miss March?" Lucius smiled even as he side-eyed her. 

That was the other thing that Robena already liked about Lucius: he was undoubtedly charming. However, Robena could admit that charm in wizards and witches of any age could hide a certain level of manipulation about which she would have to take care. Lucius might end up in Slytherin after all. "Yes, I will," she answered. 

Lucius walked her down to a side door and out into the meadow. Clouds were gathering, painting the sky above Malfoy Manor a slate gray, but the sun still broke through, lighting the trees of the Malfoy parkland in bright hues of gold and orange. It was a sky one only got in autumn, beautiful, harsh and dramatic. The day was just starting to cool and a breeze brought in the smell of downed leaves and loam from the forest beyond the manicured yards and statuary directly surrounding the house. 

Lucius led her around the tall yew hedge that marked the perimeter of the formal garden. Rather than leading her through the formal garden itself, he opened a filigreed black wrought-iron gate and led her over the mowed lawn just outside and then into the meadow proper. He walked through the waving golden grass, trailing his graceful fingers over the fringes of seed heads, discharging a few of them for the wind to carry away. Although his demeanor was casual, Robena noticed that Lucius' eyes darted constantly, as if taking in every nuance of the scene and filing it away for later. 

"Why did you ask if I was leaving?" Robena asked after a few minutes. By now they were at the back side of the house, still outside the formal gardens, but not quite in the forest of the parkland. 

Lucius balanced on a fallen log, placing one foot in front of the other as he traversed its mossy surface. "All the others did, obviously." He hopped off and looked at Robena again. Although he maintained his casual affect, two lines had manifested between his fine brows.

Robena stopped walking and folded her arms. "Were you such an ogre as to drive them off?" 

Again the thin smile graced Lucius' face. "Why no, Miss March; I'm as good as a Galleon." 

Robena wasn't sure if he was joking or not. "Well..." she said slowly, "I'm sure they had other engagements."

Lucius turned from her and started walking once again. "That's what my father told me." 

"Well then, there you are." Robena said it with confidence, but something about the entire conversation was surreal, as if Lucius was somehow assessing her and it was obvious also that he wasn't telling her everything. Still, he was a child and if there was some other reason that his other governesses had left, either he didn't know fully what it was, or else he didn't trust her yet. Perhaps patience would prove the best method.

They rounded the corner of the hedge. "You still haven't answered my question," Lucius said. 

"Because I don't know the answer. These next few weeks are to be a probationary period for everyone involved." She knew full well he didn't deserve an explanation, but something about Lucius made her want to render one anyway. He seemed to crave knowledge the way other children craved sweets and, being a Ravenclaw as well as his governess, Robena couldn't seem to help indulging him.

"Meaning?"

"I have to decide if I like being your governess.”

"Oh, I think you will," Lucius said with a smirk.

"Because you're as good as a Galleon?" Robena replied dryly.

"Of course, Miss March," Lucius looked at her with wide-eyed innocence. "But please continue."

"Additionally, you and your father will have to decide if I am a suitable governess for you." 

Lucius shrugged. "Very well."

"Was this process any different with your other governesses?" 

Now Lucius sighed. "I suppose not.” Before Robena could say anything else, Lucius gestured ahead of them with one hand. "The Owlery, Miss March." 

The Owlery was a free-standing stone building. It had an iron-bolted wooden door set into a stone arch with a keystone above bearing the Malfoy _M_. Robena studied the Owlery from the bottom to the top. Although it wasn't unheard of to have a free-standing owlery, it was unusual, if for no other reason than convenience. Then again, this was assuming that one did not have an army of house elves to make the trek through rain, snow, or sweltering heat to post a letter. Robena knew from the Selwyns that house elves only Apparated to respond directly to one of their masters. Aside from that, they walked or ran. Such had always been the custom.

Robena looked beyond the Owlery to see the granary. The relative placement made sense to her, but she wondered if Lucius understood it. "Tell me," she said, "why did your ancestors decide to put the Owlery here, as opposed to within Malfoy Manor proper?"

A flicker of doubt crossed Lucius face before he looked affronted. "How should I know? That's the servants' business, not mine." 

Robena suppressed a smile. Lucius was quick, but not as quick as he thought he was. He didn't know and now he was attempting to hide it with contempt. "Perhaps you shouldn’t," Robena opened the door to the Owlery and started up the stairs, not paying the owl droppings on the stone steps any mind. Lucius followed her. "But it's a shame, really," Robena continued, not breaking her stride.

"What's a shame?" Lucius tried to sound bored in spite of breathing faster in his attempt to keep up with Robena as she marched purposefully up the stairs in their spiral.

"You stand to inherit Malfoy Manor, am I correct?"

"Of course you're correct.” 

"Then how is it that I, your lowly governess of one week, already know more about your ancestral estate than you do?" Robena stopped at a window. 

Lucius stopped next to her, scowling, even though he didn’t deny it this time.

"Look, Lucius." Robena gestured out the window to the granary and beyond that the other outbuildings that comprised the farm. "What do you see?" 

Lucius' gray eyes swept the buildings. "The granary," he said, catching his breath. "So what?" 

Without answering, Robena turned from him and continued upwards. Above them, she could hear the sounds of the owls themselves, the occasional hooting call and the movement of wings. She reached the top of the stairs and clambered through the opening onto the floor of the Owlery. As soon as she stepped out, her feet shattered countless tiny animal skeletons. She looked down at the noise. "And now what do you see?" she asked. Lucius' own shoes crunched over the grisly remainders of centuries of owl suppers as the musty smell of excrement and decay arose around them in an invisible miasma. 

"Dead animals," Lucius answered. "What of it?"

"Indeed. Be more specific, if you please."

Lucius looked down again, lifting up one foot and observing the white bone fragments now coating the layer of owl refuse on the bottom of his shoe, disgust warring with curiosity on his face. He also wasn't as good at hiding his emotions as he thought he was. "Some birds, some bats...mostly mice and rats." He looked up at Robena, waiting.

As Lucius mulled it over, Robena had stepped around him and held her letter out at arm's reach, waiting for an owl. One specimen had landed: a little owl. Lucius did a double take. "Not that one, Miss March." His voice carried a note of warning. "He's a biter." The little owl looked at Lucius balefully; clearly, their enmity was long-standing. Robena took a bag of owl treats out of the pocket of her skirt. Carrying owl treats was simply a throwback from spending time with Harris, one that she hadn’t yet broken, especially knowing she was going to the Owlery. _Remember, Ro, you must be patient and kind, but not allow yourself to be intimidated by these creatures,_ Harris had always said. 

Robena took one owl treat from the bag and held it in the hand that did not possess the letter. The owl's bright, round eyes followed the treat greedily. Robena set the treat on the wooden railing in front of her. The owl dove for it, tipped its head back, and swallowed it whole, before hopping up to Robena and sticking its foot out for her to attach the letter. Without further ado, it then flapped out of a window near the top of the tower.

Lucius watched it go, his mouth set in a disapproving line. "It didn't deserve that, Miss March," he scolded her. "Now it's going to expect an owl treat every single time you want to post a letter."

Now it was Robena's turn to shrug as she watched the owl get smaller in the distance. "I can't imagine how it could possibly matter." 

Lucius tilted his head to the side. "Do you not? You'll spoil it. It won't be good for anything."

Robena felt the corner of her mouth turn up as she watched Lucius' incredulous face. "Is it good for anything now? Does it carry your letters? It looks to me as if you share a mutual animosity, an arrangement hardly effective for either of you, or so I would think." 

That shut him up. Lucius looked back out the window, mollified.

"Some problems can be solved with grace or compromise more readily than with force or intimidation." Robena now allowed herself the wry smile that had threatened before. "That said, have you solved the mystery of the Owlery itself?"

Lucius' brow darkened before he finally sighed. "No," he admitted. "I don't suppose you would give me a hint."

Robena waited.

"If you please, Miss March."

"As you wish. Follow me." They made their way back down the spiral stone staircase. The light had diminished with the coming twilight and the wind had picked up even more, making stirring sounds as it blew through the hedges. Robena now walked directly between the Owlery and the granary. She held up a hand. "That's far enough." Lucius stopped and looked at her. Robena drew her wand and pointed it at the ground. " _Tractus Revelio_.”

Within seconds, ghostly footprints materialized in shimmering shades of blue. There were a few house elf footprints, but most were animal tracks. Tractus Revelio was a charm that Robena was moderately good at but truthfully Francois Selwyn, the eldest son and heir of that family, was the true expert. He could cast the charm and then, when he closed his eyes and placed his hand over the tracks, he could see what had transpired if it was fairly recent. Such casting skill had made Francois handy for the Aurors on more than one occasion. Although Robena's casting was not that powerful in this instance, she could still bring up tracks up to a year old, even if she could not see them in their exact context. 

Lucius crouched to investigate, his white blond hair falling over his forehead, studying the prints of foxes, cats, and, as Robena had expected, hundreds of tracks from small rodents. "Follow some of the mouse tracks and you shall see," Robena told him. 

Lucius obeyed. "Some of them stop suddenly...surrounded by a sort of a two-sided fringe…" He stood and looked at Robena. "Taken from above...by a winged predator..." He turned towards the granary. "On their way from stealing the grain." 

Robena nodded, pleased. "Yes."

Lucius turned back to her and smiled, proud of himself for having figured it out. "Building the Owlery close to the granary solves two problems: the mice as grain-stealing pests and the owls' need to find ready prey." 

"So, what did you learn?"

Lucius frowned. "That wasn't the lesson?"

Robena inclined her head. "Your reasoning was sound, Lucius. But there is a larger lesson here than owls and mice. Such a configuration smacks of cunning and pragmatism and can tell you much about the designer. I wouldn’t necessarily expect you to know any of that, at least not yet.” She smiled. “Not being able to provide an answer from time to time is acceptable; regrettably, no one possesses all earthly knowledge. Of course, if you don't know an answer, I shall expect academic rigor from you to rectify this, as I cannot abide intellectual laziness." She softened. "I can tell already that you are clever and inquisitive. I strive to hone these aspects in you, of course, but they shall amount to naught if you lack the discipline to follow those inquisitions to the end. Do you understand?"

Lucius nodded gravely. "Yes, Miss March." 

"And I'll be wanting six feet of parchment on the five owls native to Britain in my hand two days hence."

Lucius' eyes widened in dismay. "Six feet? As much as that?"

Robena knew he would balk at that; any child would. Still, she opted to deliberately misinterpret him. "Yes. I'm pleased to see you embracing this opportunity to learn so much about owls, given their importance not only to your family, but to the wizarding world at large. In fact, I daresay you shall be better-versed on the subject than any other wizard your age, assuming you bend your considerable will to the task. How clever of you to recognize that and react accordingly." She sighed and let her eyes drift in the direction of the house. "Now I feel stingy for only assigning six feet..."

Lucius put both hands up. "No, no. I shan't disappoint you, Miss March." 

"Excellent. I'm so glad that we are of one mind in this."

Just then, a house elf came around the corner. As it got closer, Robena recognized it as Dobby. Even in the darkening twilight, Robena could see Lucius' jaw tighten and his eyes narrow. "What, Dobby?" he asked, his voice cold. "What could you possibly want?"

Robena lifted an eyebrow, curious as to their relationship; there was enmity there as well, but she expected it was something more complex than Lucius' relationship with the little owl.

Dobby bowed low in response, before standing to deliver his message. "Dobby didn't mean to interrupt Master Lucius, sir. Dobby only wanted to tell him that Master Abraxas had returned and is expecting him in his study. Master Lucius and Miss March."

"Fine. Tell him we'll be there directly. You're dismissed." Dobby bowed again, snapped his fingers, and Disapparated with a pop of displaced air. 

Lucius sighed in irritation and glared at the empty spot where Dobby had stood mere moments before. After a heartbeat, he looked at Robena. He smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Father calls. We'd best hurry; he'll not want to be kept waiting."

TWO: EXPECTATIONS

Although serving the esteemed Selwyn family had presented its own challenges, many of which Robena had navigated with a measure of success, she still felt thoroughly intimidated by Abraxas Malfoy. Robena took a breath to steady herself as Lucius knocked on the door of Abraxas’ study. After a moment, they both heard the requisite command of _enter._ Lucius then went in first with Robena following behind. She kept her shoulders pulled back and her face relaxed, even though she couldn't help but feel nervous. After all, this was the first time she had interacted with the elder Malfoy on his own grounds. Her interview with him had been in an upstairs meeting room in the Leaky Cauldron, a place one might consider no-man’s-land, and even then it had been harrowing. Abraxas’ cutthroat reputation had preceded him and his uncompromising demeanor during her interview had done little to reassure Robena that the dire things people said about him were mere exaggerations. 

Robena shook her head impatiently at the memory. This man wasn't her enemy; he was merely her employer, nothing more. She resolved her mind to calm and let her face reflect this, attempting to look serious without looking surly. She and Lucius made their way over to the desk where Abraxas sat, quill scratching over parchment. He neither stopped, nor even looked up at her and Lucius. 

Although his hands were big, they moved with deftness and precision as he finished and rolled up the document. Robena also noticed that Abraxas still wore his wedding ring. For his part, Lucius stood in front of the desk, his hands clasped behind him and his head inclined slightly down, waiting respectfully. Robena stood next to him, hands at her sides, also waiting. As she did, she watched as Abraxas melted red sealing wax in a candle flame, before letting it drip, blood-like, onto the rolled parchment. He pressed in the Malfoy seal and set the parchment aside. Only then did he look up at them, his eyes meeting and fixing Robena first. 

One winter at Hogwarts, she and Harris had sneaked out to the Black Lake. Harris transfigured their shoes into ice skates, and then they glided breathlessly onto the lake’s frozen surface. It was early spring, and neither of them had possessed the presence of mind to check the thickness of the ice before going out. Robena skated out far, trying to impress Harris, but all at once, the crust under her feet shattered with a resounding crack and she fell through and into the frigid water. For just a moment, she looked up and saw the sun shining through the ice above her, a stunning, deadly shade of blue, identical in hue to the eyes that met Robena's now. Robena remembered thinking, even moments from drowning, that it might be the last thing she ever saw. 

Abraxas’ hair was golden blond, slicked back on top and cropped close on the sides, not one hair out of place and without the merest trace of gray yet. He had a square jaw, and his mouth turned down naturally at the corners. He also had two permanent creases between his eyebrows. Although he was undoubtedly handsome, his entire affect was one of severity. As he stood, his imposing physicality only magnified. Abraxas stood over six feet tall, with broad shoulders, powerful beneath his bespoke black robes. However, like Lucius, he moved with leonine grace as he came around the desk. 

He stood in front of the desk and folded his arms, looking now at his son. "Lucius." Although Abraxas' voice was quiet, it carried authority. 

Lucius looked up at him. "Father."

"What have you been doing with the newest addition to our household?"

Robena watched the two of them. She had expected austerity from Abraxas, but his question sounded almost accusatory and lacked any trace of warmth. Also, Lucius' father hadn't seen him in a week and vice versa, and yet there was no inquiring about each other's well-being.

"She wanted to post a letter, sir, so I was showing her the Owlery." 

"And?"

Lucius took a deep breath. "She taught me that it was built near the granary, likely so the owls could feed off of the mice going in and out." Robena heard tentative hope in Lucius' voice as he responded to his father's interrogation. "She seemed to think that our ancestors were quite clever, father." Now Lucius let that slim smile warm his pale face. 

Abraxas grunted in response, seemingly satisfied with this answer. He turned his gaze to Robena once more. "In the future, Miss March, you have but to hand your letters to one of my many house elves, and any of them shall post them to the Owlery for you."

"Oh, it was no trouble, Mr. Malfoy," Robena answered. "I'm certain your house elves have better things to occupy their time than carrying my post."

"I insist, Miss March." Abraxas’ voice had both chilled and quieted further. "After all, you have charge of my sole heir's well-being and education; I wouldn't want anything to divert your attention from these most important of tasks." Unexpectedly, a shiver of fear crept up the back of Robena's neck. It wasn't as if Abraxas was explicitly threatening her, and yet she heard the warning in his refined voice, pulling like an undertow to the ocean of his command with its mist of mild derision. At the very least, he was testing her willingness to obey him.

Robena maintained his gaze as the moment stretched. Finally, Robena relented. Even though it was a strange and perhaps arbitrary rule, it wasn't worth a row, not this time. "You’re too kind, Mr. Malfoy," she let her own mild sarcasm in to match his, but kept her tone light. 

"Think nothing of it." Abraxas then looked back at his son. "You're excused, Lucius. I would speak with Miss March alone and you are overdue for your dinner. I shall meet with you after."

"Yes, father." Lucius nodded to Robena and walked out, shutting the door behind him. As he did, Abraxas walked back behind his desk and stood by one of the windows, looking out at the deepening twilight. "Your accommodations are satisfactory, I trust?" It was clear that Abraxas held no interest whatsoever in the answer, but was only asking the question out of basest politeness. He ran a fingertip over the slate-colored lead binding the diamonds of glass to one another before pulling it back to inspect it for dust.

"Very much so, sir. Thank you." 

Apparently finding no fault, Abraxas put his hands behind his back, although he still didn't turn to face Robena. "Then I'll get straight to the point. You are the fifth of Lucius' governesses."

"Is he so difficult to govern?" The question was out of her mouth before Robena could stop it. She clamped her lips shut, feeling warmth rush to her cheeks. She suspected that Abraxas would not respond well to cheek and preemptively winced. 

Rather than sanction her, Abraxas turned just his head and smiled coldly. "Perhaps he is. Or perhaps his prior governesses could not withstand the demands inherent in serving the Malfoy family." He turned completely and faced her. "You see, Miss March, I expect the best from my son because he has the best of everything, from the bed he sleeps in, to the broom he rides, to the governess who instructs and guides him." 

"And I'm the best?" Robena tried hard to keep the irony out of her voice this time. 

"That remains to be seen, does it not? Granted, I like to think my taste in all things is superlative, but you've only been here one week, and as I say, you are fifth in a succession of other governesses that ultimately disappointed me."

Robena kept her face blank, but something didn't add up. Lucius had specifically asked if she was going to leave. He had said that his father had told him that the previous governesses left because they had other engagements, not that Abraxas had found them unsatisfactory and thus sacked them, an implication Abraxas was strongly hinting at now. Failing to meet an unreasonable standard and being let go was one thing; quitting employment for the Malfoys voluntarily was something else altogether. Robena badly wanted a straight answer, but knew first that it was not her place to demand one, second, that her timing would be poor, and third, that Abraxas could easily lie to her. She decided to play his game this time. She lowered her eyes. "What must I do to meet your justifiably high standards, sir?" 

"Look up, Miss March." 

Robena's head snapped up. 

"Don't attempt to flatter me. That's my first requirement."

Robena's mouth dropped open. She couldn't help herself. She felt blood rising to color her face. _Perhaps you shouldn't flatter yourself, you pompous megalomaniac._ Luckily, Robena stopped the insolent words behind her teeth. She took a deep breath, disciplining her emotions all while marveling at the ease with which Abraxas could provoke her. "I meant no offense, sir," she said. "I am grateful for the opportunity to contribute whatever I may to Lucius' education and well-being, I do consider it an honor and as such, I take it seriously. Please understand that I have taken all of my charges seriously, from those who live in hovels to those who live in mansions. No child under my care deserves less and I have never, ever been dismissed." 

Abraxas raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Robena let her fingers uncurl, unaware even that she had clenched them into fists. Perhaps Abraxas was merely goading her to see if she could be cowed. Resolved, Robena continued. "With all due respect, Mr. Malfoy, you hired me and here I am. Now, if you please, tell me how I may best be of service." 

Abraxas smirked. "Have a seat, Miss March." Robena sat in one of the armchairs facing the desk, keeping her posture in check. Abraxas sat as well and folded his hands on the mirror-shined mahogany of his desk. Robena couldn't help but notice that she was seated lower than him and doubted very much that it was an accident. She had worked for powerful men before but she had never been in the presence of a wizard so keen to establish his dominance, a trait Robena found unnerving at best and downright repulsive at worst.

Abraxas’ look to her at this point was appraising. "How old are you, Miss March?"

 _None of your Merlin-blessed business,_ Robena thought. "Twenty-two, sir."

"And unmarried, obviously, and without children of your own." It wasn't a question, so Robena said nothing. Abraxas continued. "I mention it only because the chief failing of governesses in general is that, due to your lack of life experience, you don't fully understand what siring and raising a child truly encompasses. Now, you said that you have treated each of your charges the same, whether rich or poor or, I assume, pureblooded or Muggle-born."

 _And there it is_ , Robena thought, _now we get to the heart of it._

Abraxas extended a hand towards her. "Your statement implies that all children are the same when in fact, nothing could be further from the truth. I wouldn't expect you to understand, coming from a family of Muggles yourself, but make no mistake, Miss March, the requirements of a pureblooded child such as Lucius are quite different from any others." 

"Forgive me, sir, but my last engagement was with the Selwyns and lasted two and a half years. This is hardly my first experience with pureblooded families. Also, you'll find I am well-versed in pureblood etiquette and traditions. My own upbringing should not come to bear in this respect." 

Abraxas smiled patronizingly. "I can appreciate that you feel that way, Miss March, but there are certain aspects you shall never understand, regardless of what you may have read or experienced." 

Robena took another deep breath slowly through her nose. He was clearly trying to bully her into admitting that she was less than the Malfoys or the Selwyns due to her birth and she wasn't going to do it. She would rather burn in Hades. Robena also began sincerely to wonder as to the purpose of this little meeting and wished that Abraxas would just come out and say what he meant. _To the devil with it,_ Robena thought with resignation. "What's your point, sir?"

Abraxas steepled his hands in front of his chin. "While you have my leave to teach Lucius natural history, writing, wizarding lore, mathematics, French, pianoforte, and any other subject or skill of which you have expertise, you are never to teach him that mixing with Muggles or Muggleborns is acceptable in any way." 

Robena felt tired suddenly. Ulrich Selwyn, the patriarch of her previous Sacred 28 family, had given her a similar speech, although he at least had tried to be civil about it, delivering his version of it with hesitancy, his weak chin quivering. As to Ulrich’s timing, Robena made a guess that he only did it because his gimlet-eyed wife Adelaide had compelled him to do so after she started suspecting, correctly, that there was something going on between their eldest son, Francois, and Robena. 

Robena supposed she had it coming in even agreeing to work with pureblood families at all. Also, she could admit that she and Francois (who was older than her by 18 months and most assuredly _not_ one of her charges) were not as discreet as perhaps they should have been. Still, where this long-standing prejudice used to rankle her, particularly during her time at Hogwarts, now it just drained her. She took one last deep breath and resolved right then and there not ever to let Abraxas Malfoy or any other pureblood see that they were getting to her. "As you wish, sir," Robena said, clearing her tone of any defiance, defeat, anxiety, or other feeling upon which Abraxas could feed. 

"Excellent," he said softly. 

Robena cursed herself for being so transparent. Ascertaining if he could get under her skin was exactly what Abraxas was doing and Robena had walked right into his trap with her indignation and her fiery retorts. Robena suspected the main reason that Abraxas had found such success was because Robena was still smarting from her experience with the Selwyns. In any case, Abraxas had won this round, of that Robena was certain. There was nothing for it but to try and retreat gracefully and live to duel another day. Robena stood. "Will there be anything else, Mr. Malfoy?" 

Abraxas’ eyes swept over her and Robena felt a chill. "Nothing whatsoever, Miss March. You're dismissed."

Robena nodded, performed an about-face and walked out Abraxas’ office, feeling his eyes on her every step of the way. As she closed the door behind her quietly, she felt her shoulders relax, grateful to be out of his presence. _Well,_ she thought, as she started back towards her room, _he may be an egotistical, controlling bigot, but at least he's not home very often._ She would simply have to watch her step around Abraxas Malfoy; that was all there was to it. As Robena walked down the hall, she wondered for the first time if taking this assignment had been a mistake. 

THREE: AS GOOD AS A GALLEON

After his father dismissed him, Lucius closed the door to his Abraxas' study and leaned against it, his brow furrowed. He wondered what his father and Miss March were talking about cloistered therein. Lucius had told Robena the truth; he didn't have any clear idea why his governesses had left, only half-brewed speculations, and his father, in typical Abraxas Malfoy fashion, had not chosen to include Lucius in the details. Lucius stood up and continued down the hall towards the small dining room, his stomach growling. 

As his feet moved over the marble floor enchanted to ripple with each of his footsteps, Lucius reminisced. The first governess that he could remember had been Georgina Bailey. She had been full of light and life, with long curly golden hair and freckles. She laughed a lot and always had games and songs for him. Georgina had remained his governess for many years and Lucius had unrestrainedly adored her and so was justifiably despondent when she left. After all, she had not even said goodbye to him; one morning he had awoken to find her gone without a trace.

Of course Lucius confronted his father. When Abraxas told him it was no concern of his, Lucius protested this injustice vehemently. That was a mistake. His father's backhanded blow knocked Lucius to the floor and made his left ear ring and go temporarily deaf, ending any inquiry Lucius could make in the matter. Lucius should have seen it coming, he supposed later; his father abhorred disobedience above all things. That is, all things but Muggles and Mudbloods, the latter of which Georgina had been, and all governesses thereafter, up to and including Miss March. 

Lucius took a Boomerang Ball out of his pocket and started bouncing it, farther and farther away, watching it come back to him and then catching it. It was a toy purpose-built for only children, particularly ones who lived in giant halls with a multitude of hard surfaces. As Lucius started tossing it at the marble columns, he wondered as to the mystery of his governesses' blood status. As with all pureblooded aristocratic children, Lucius had been taught that he was made of finer stuff than any Mudblood, so he wondered why his father hired them over and over. Once, he could understand as a mistake or an exception, but Miss March was the fifth Muggle-born witch to hold what his father surely believed a fairly important position. It was a pattern that defied all reason. 

Moreover, the blood status of his governesses put Lucius in a quandary because even though he knew that they were lesser, he respected them and had even loved them, particularly Georgina. He couldn't bring himself to generate the contempt for them that his father seemed to think was appropriate. Lucius threw the the Boomerang Ball hard enough that it ricocheted off the ceiling and the floor before it returned to his hand. It seemed also that his feelings about Miss March were not going to differ from those towards his other governesses. Even though she had only been his governess one week, Lucius tentatively liked her. After his experience with Georgina, Lucius guarded his feelings carefully as he did not relish the thought of having his heart broken again. 

Lucius caught the ball off of a suit of armor that had turned its head at him in indignation for having the impudence to bounce a ball off of its helm. Lucius realized why he liked his new governess already. Robena was the first of his governesses to treat Lucius as an adult. That was something of a novelty. His previous governesses had treated him as a child, whether that meant doting on him or talking down to him. His father certainly didn't treat him like an adult, unless it was an underling. 

Distracted, Lucius threw the ball and it hit a vase made of fine, almost translucent white china. The vase fell off of its plinth and onto the stone below, shattering into a hundred pieces and making a terrific, echoing crash. Lucius winced and then collected himself, waiting. Within seconds, Dobby manifested. Dobby looked at the vase and then at Lucius, his huge eyes reproachful. "Do you have something to say?" Lucius asked. 

Dobby continued to look at him, until it seemed they were in a contest of wills. Lucius wasn't concerned. He already knew who would win. Dobby finally looked down. "No, Master Lucius. Dobby was just thinking."

"You're not here to think, Dobby," Lucius said. "You're here to repair the broken vase."  
Dobby looked as if he was about to say something. Lucius rolled his eyes. "Oh, sweet Merlin, _what?_ What, Dobby?"

"It is difficult, Master Lucius."

"Just say it, Dobby. That's an order."

Dobby bit his lip and looked pained, but Lucius knew he'd ultimately have to obey the sacred phrase. "Perhaps Master Lucius should just tell Master Abraxas what happened, just this once."

Lucius folded his arms. "Or perhaps I should just forbid you from mending the vase, tell Master Abraxas that you broke it, and have you to take the punishment."

Dobby's eyes widened in alarm. "Please, no, Master Lucius, Dobby is begging."

Lucius paused, vindictive glee over Dobby's discomfort and fear warming his core. "I'll overlook your insolence this time, Dobby, but you must repair the vase and I forbid you from speaking about this to anyone."

"Yes, Master Lucius." Dobby turned to the vase and snapped his fingers. The pieces immediately flew back together seamlessly, and the vase returned to its plinth. Dobby looked back at Lucius. "Shall there be anything else, sir?"

"No, Dobby. You're dismissed." Dobby bowed, snapped his fingers once more, and Disapparated.

Lucius smirked and took up the ball from where it had rolled, a few yards from the vase. He was tempted to knock the vase off again and make good on his threat to Dobby, but decided finally to give the house elf a pass. After all, he was hungry. Lucius carefully stepped around the vase, looking at it out of the corner of his eye. _As good as a Galleon,_ he thought. He then turned his attention to the hall in front of him and tossed the ball once again. 

After he ate, Lucius returned to his father's study, but it was dark and empty, so Lucius went to the other place he suspected his father might be: the small drawing room in the eastern wing on the second floor. His route took him to the grand staircase in the atrium at the center of the house. A chandelier hung from overhead, its thousands of cut glass pieces dark for the time being. The only light in the atrium now came from sconces lining the walls. They guttered in the unceasing drafts, throwing shadows onto the wall cast from the statuary lining the staircase. All were carved dragons, but each was different, some wyverns, some wyrms, curling back onto themselves to make tall, ornate pillars.

When Lucius was younger, maybe five years old, he found the dragons terrifying, to the point of not ever wanting to walk up the staircase, particularly at night when the sconces were lit. He would take the servants' staircase as much as possible, which happened frequently, as he was typically in the company of Georgina or another governess. All of his governesses would take him that way, mostly out of convenience, as it was the quickest route from the exterior of the manor to the nursery. 

Of course, it was only a matter of time before Lucius' father caught wind of his avoiding the grand staircase and why. Abraxas prided himself on his powers of observation and insight, a characteristic most valuable to the man who ostensibly ruled the wizarding world. One night, Abraxas sent Lucius to bed, but followed behind. He must have seen Lucius hesitate at the bottom of the staircase, eyes wide, body poised like a mouse sensing the overhead presence of an owl swooping for the killing stroke.

At the time, Lucius knew that his father was behind him and, even then, understood that his father would not approve of his snubbing the grand staircase for that of the servants. A war started in Lucius' mind. He knew that he should just climb past the dragons, lest he risk his father's sometimes-violent displeasure. And yet, there were just so many of them, on the pillars, on the walls: enormous, daunting, predatory, and obviously alive. 

Lucius froze. He wavered for so long that eventually his father caught up with him. Abraxas stood over him, his arms folded, his mouth turned down, and his brows lowered. "What are you doing?"

Lucius didn't answer; he could no more speak than move. The moment expanded like a soap bubble. 

Abraxas sighed, a rapid intake and exhalation of air through his nose. "I dislike repeating myself. I said, what are you doing?"

Lucius' eyes fell to his father's expensive black shoes, polished to a glossy shine by one of the house elves. Mouth dry, all Lucius could manage was one barely audible word: "Dragons."

Another sigh. "I cannot hear you when you mutter."

Lucius looked up at his father. "I'm frightened of the dragons." He braced himself for either a verbal or a physical rebuke. Weakness in any form was another thing his father detested. 

To his surprise, his father actually smiled. It was not a cruel smile, nor a patronizing smile, nor a flattering smile, but a genuine one, his blue eyes crinkling. To Lucius' further amazement, his father took a knee, coming down to Lucius' level. "Surely you misunderstand," he said. "Do you know what those dragons are?"

Lucius shook his head quickly. He didn't want to do anything to ruin his father's demeanor to him in this moment.

"Why, those are the guardians of the Malfoy family, _our_ family. They watch over us and protect us from any who might do us harm."

Lucius looked from his father to the dragons. 

Abraxas continued. "While they may seem ferocious, their ferocity is only in the service of our family."

In spite of himself, Lucius felt the corners of his own mouth turn up. "So they're...friends?"

"In a sense, yes, but more to the point, they are loyal servants. Ergo, to whom do those dragons belong?"

Lucius turned back to his father. "Me?"

Abraxas nodded. "Indeed. And me, of course."

Lucius now looked at the dragons in wonder. They were his dragons, his father's dragons. They wouldn't hurt him. 

Abraxas stood once more. "Now, are you still frightened to climb the staircase?"

Lucius shook his head again. "No, sir." 

"Good. Now, up to bed." Never one to be demonstrative, Abraxas hadn't embraced Lucius or even patted his head, but Lucius didn't need him to in that moment. Abraxas' brief act of kindness was enough for Lucius to believe himself loved, at least then. 

Back in the present, Lucius climbed the stairs without a second thought to the dragons on his way to the eastern wing. Looking down the hall, he saw light spilling from one of the rooms. Unlike the wan, flickering orange light from the sconces in the halls, this was the warm, golden light of many candles and most likely a fire as well. Lucius stopped at the threshold and looked in. His father wasn't there, which likely meant that he was at dinner himself, or had finished and was thus on his way to the small sitting room now. 

Assured that he was alone at least for the time being, Lucius flopped on the crimson brocade couch. Once his father manifested, he would expect Lucius to sit properly, but for now, Lucius could relax. As he had guessed, a fire roared in the grate and several salamanders rushed over the lower logs bejeweled with ruby coals. The skins of the salamanders changed from black to red to orange as they moved, sometimes flashing too quickly for Lucius to keep up. Lucius had always enjoyed watching them. They weren’t pets, at least any more than the owls were, but they were part of his home, and a comforting and magical part at that.

Completely at his ease now, Lucius felt his eyelids growing heavy. He yawned hugely, desiring little more than to seek the comfort of his bed. Still, he knew this was not to be until his father finished with him, whatever that might entail. Of one thing Lucius was certain: his father would expect him to be sharp. With some regret, Lucius adjusted his posture on the sofa and closed his eyes, listening. 

He heard the cracking of the fire as air bubbles in the wood expanded and burst, letting sparks fly up. He heard the subtle rustling of the salamanders. Above all, he heard the faint footfalls of his father approaching. Lucius allowed himself a small smile and held his breath, concentrating. Sounds traveled far in Malfoy Manor, there was little to soften or deaden the myriad echoes generated by the unnumbered tons of ancient stone. Despite this, through careful observation, listening, and practice, Lucius knew where his father was. 

Thus, Lucius timed it perfectly, standing and turning just as his father crossed the threshold. He inclined his head. “Father.” 

To Lucius’ satisfaction, a tiny flash of respect crossed Abraxas’ features before he adopted his usual unyielding demeanor. “Sit,” he replied.

Lucius responded with alacrity, his posture flawless. He kept silent: he knew not to speak until Abraxas had given him leave. Abraxas crossed behind the couch to the sideboard. There, he removed the stopper from a cut-glass decanter and poured two fingers of Firescotch into a matching crystal tumbler. It was not the finest they had, but still superb; as Abraxas himself had said, _I refuse to drink anything younger than you, Lucius._ It was merely one of Abraxas’ many reminders, even if just to himself, of how high his standards were.

Abraxas replaced the stopper in the decanter with a clink, approached the couch and sat on the side opposite Lucius. He fixed Lucius with a penetrating stare, and Lucius resisted the urge to squirm. After all, he had done nothing wrong, and thus, he knew from experience simply to practice patience. Thus, he kept his gaze neutral and waited. Without breaking eye contact, Abraxas took a drink. “What say you of the new governess, Lucius?” he finally asked.

At this, Lucius could not keep the surprise off of his face as he now felt both eyebrows go up before lowering again. This was the first time his father had ever posed such a question to him. He would have to answer very carefully.

“Well?” 

“It may be too soon to tell, father. She seems…smart,” Lucius knew that this reply was weak potion, but he was not sure which way to jump and so opted to test the waters first. 

Abraxas made no reply of his own, but simply took another sip of his beverage.

Lucius continued, still with caution. “I mean…she doesn’t just give me answers to questions, she makes me figure things out. She called it…academic…ri…rig…something.”

“Rigor?” 

“Yes, father, that was it. Also, she can beat me up the Owlery stairs,” Lucius reluctantly added. 

A small smile crept onto Abraxas’ face. “Hmm. Perhaps I should add physical training in along with your magical and didactic education.” He turned serious once more. “But I was not asking about Miss March in terms of your opinion about her. The results of her employ as manifested in your general outcome are far more important than whether or not you like her.”

Lucius felt his heart sink. _Of course father doesn’t care what I think, not really._ He stared back at the fire, noting with a small frisson of disappointment that the salamanders were no longer there. 

His father continued, “No, what I meant was, what did you observe about her?”

“She’s Muggle-born, is she not?” Lucius asked dully, anticipating that it was where his father was going with his line of questioning. 

“She is.” 

“Why?” Lucius burst out before he could stop himself. 

Rather than becoming angry with Lucius’ questioning of one of Abraxas’ decisions regarding his upbringing, he raised an eyebrow. “Why not?” Lucius said nothing; the question was clearly rhetorical. “She’s a servant,” Abraxas continued coldly. “As with any other servant, such as a house elf, only time will tell if she will perform satisfactorily in her commissioned capacity. And as with a house elf, I have ways of correcting her should she prove unruly.” 

A sliver of fear edged into Lucius’ heart like a splinter working under his skin. There was something on the edge of his consciousness, something to do with Georgina, but it slipped away from him, maddeningly. Lucius swallowed, but kept the same politely impartial expression on his face. 

Abraxas took another drink. “That said, because she is a Mudblood, and because I am nothing if not careful, I shall have to keep a closer eye on her than I would if she possessed cleaner lineage. For this, I shall certainly have to rely on you, Lucius.”

“Me?” Lucius found his throat was dry so the word came out barely above a whisper.

“But of course. You reported to me just moments ago that she was able to outpace you up the Owlery stairs. She never should have made it that far.”

Lucius furrowed his brows once more, “I don’t understand why, father. I was being polite, nothing more. She wanted to post a letter, asked where the Owlery was, and so I showed her. I don’t see the harm.”

“Of course you don’t. Nor would I expect you to grasp the intricacies of subtle control. Not yet. For the time being, you need understand only two things.” Abraxas held up the thumb of his left hand. “First, all of her letters must go through the house elves.” His index finger then joined his thumb. “Second, thanks to you, she now knows how to get to the Owlery, thus I shall consider it your responsibility that she complies with this request.” 

Abraxas’ expression indicated that this statement should not generate any sort of argument out of Lucius. The implication was that his father had made this request because he fully intended to read Miss March’s letters prior to them finding their recipients. The violation of Miss March’s privacy bothered Lucius, but he knew better than to gainsay Abraxas on this matter, or really on any other. “Yes, father,” Lucius said. 

“Good,” Abraxas turned his eyes to the fire, now aglow with orange embers. “I am absolutely confident in your loyalty, Lucius.” 

Lucius felt a small shock of pleasure at the compliment before a sickening new doubt shot through him: _what if it’s not a compliment, but a threat?_ The hopeful smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth disappeared instantly. 

Abraxas looked back at him. “You’re dismissed Lucius.”

It was as warm a _good night_ from his father as Lucius ever received and so he stood and departed, closing the door behind him without making a sound, all while ambivalence warred within him. He felt honored that his father placed such trust in him, and yet, he could not shake the feeling that he was betraying Robena, perhaps the only one that could stand as an ally to him, especially if she was anything like Georgina had been. Thus perturbed, Lucius measured the long, echoing hallways back to his own room, before he fell into an uneasy sleep.


	2. Ch. 4: Many Happy Returns; Ch. 5: Arrangement; Ch. 6: The Sisters Black

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robena finds a hint of something troubling in Lucius' past. She reflects about some of her own past troubles, including those with the Selwyns that ultimately ended her service there and led her to the Malfoys. In another part of wizarding Britain, pureblood matriarch Druella Black recalls the weakness in her husband Cygnus that has allowed her access by proxy to an ancient secret society of pureblood wizards, but she has always wanted more. Much to the delight of their daughters Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Narcissa, the Blacks receive an invitation to the Malfoys' annual Solstice Ball. Druella considers the future for her girls.
> 
> _Cygnus frowned. “It’s a secret society, Ella,” he replied flatly. “I can’t tell you anything. That’s rather the point.”_
> 
>  _Druella smiled coldly. “No, it most assuredly is_ not _a secret society. It’s a poorly-concealed society that keeps secrets. But if that’s your demeanor, then I don’t suppose it should bother you, my letting your depraved behavior and blatant infidelity slip to your mother.”_

FOUR: MANY HAPPY RETURNS

Over the next few weeks, Robena and Lucius fell into an easy routine. After breakfast, Robena would tutor Lucius in those subjects approved by his father. Robena found Lucius eager to learn, beginning to understand, even at his age, the advantages that knowledge gave him. To him, learning seemed to be a game, one that he was good at and could win with discipline and perseverance. His competition of course was none other than his own self, but it was enough to drive him. In the afternoons, if the weather was favorable, they would walk about the grounds together, or Lucius would go off on his own, to ride his broomstick, explore, or do whatever else suited his fancy.

As they grew more comfortable with each other, Robena also discovered Lucius’ caustic wit. He noticed far more than she had originally given him credit for and could turn the smallest misstep on her part into a verbal barb hours or even days later at the most—or least—opportune moment. Even better was that he seemed to relish when Robena paid him back in kind, able to match his sarcastic missiles with plenty of her own. Thus armed with mutual expectation, they sparred with good nature, and yet with a reciprocating respect. 

Despite their budding rapport, Robena suspected Lucius played certain things close to the vest and perhaps always would. There were aspects about him she was not allowed to inquire after; Lucius had drawn very clear boundaries in this respect, but it did not stop Robena from wanting to know more. Georgina was one such taboo subject, Lucius’ birthday another.

This last manifested in one incident several weeks into Robena’s tenure at Malfoy Manor. Robena and Lucius sat in the library as usual, Lucius doing sums and Robena correcting him as needed. After a while of this, a house elf interrupted them, garbed in the Malfoy livery and bearing a sealed letter on a silver tray. Without even looking at the house elf or breaking the intense scratching of his quill as he concentrated, Lucius took the letter and set it next to him on the desk.

Lucius finished his parchment of problems before handing it off to Robena and starting on the next one without even glancing at the letter. No sound permeated the library except the ticking of the clock and the movement of Lucius’ quill. In her time as a governess, Robena had never known a child to ignore a letter addressed to him or her personally. It was almost as if Lucius not only had been expecting it, but that he was ignoring it on purpose, possibly dreading its contents. 

Eventually, Lucius finished, set his quill down, handed the parchment to Robena and massaged his right hand with his left. He smiled at her. “Problem, Miss March?”

Robena realized that she must have some sort of quizzical look on her face. “Don’t you want to open your letter?”

Lucius’ smile faded. “Not really, no.” He went to take the next sheet of problems, but Robena shot out her hand, preventing Lucius from moving it over.

Lucius gave her a reproachful look. “Really, Miss March, you’re stopping me from finishing my work?” He tilted his chin down. “What was your job again?”

Robena ignored the bait and answered his question with one of her own. “You really don’t want to open your letter?”

Lucius kept steady pressure on the arithmetic sheet until finally Robena gave up and let him slide it towards himself. “No.” He started on his sums and Robena folded her arms. Perceiving her judgmental stare, Lucius paused mid-answer and looked back up at her. “You may open it yourself if you’re so very concerned.” 

“Very well.” She picked the letter up off of the table. It was heavy, made of high-rag parchment, expensive, quality paper. Robena turned the letter over. The seal was black wax, embossed with a shield raising a dagger below a skull surrounded by curling scroll work. Underneath the dagger was a chevron and below that, three standing rooks. At the very bottom, the words _Toujours Pur_ proclaimed it the seal of one of the branches of the Black family. 

Robena broke this seal now and removed the contents of the envelope. It contained a Howler and so Robena dropped it so it could discharge its message. It rose from the table and formed its comical mouth so that its speech spell could work. The refined, female voice that emanated from the Howler bore the tone of a woman used to getting her own way:

_Lucius, from our family to yours, we wish you many happy returns on this your eleventh birthday. It shall be only too soon that you’ll attend Hogwarts and continue the long-standing alliance between our two houses. May the day bring joy to you and yours. With greatest regard, Mr. and Mrs. Cygnus Black and family._

With that, the Howler fell to the table between Lucius and Robena. Lucius now had his head up from his work, but his eyes carried a 1000-meter stare and his lips were pressed together. “It’s your birthday?” Robena finally said.

“I guess it must be,” Lucius replied, his voice dull.

“Well, how are you going to celebrate?”

Lucius now turned his eyes to Robena, his affect cold. “I’m not. May I please get back to work now?”

Robena put her hands up in defense as Lucius put his head back down and started moving his quill again. Robena looked back at the Howler, which was open towards her so she could now read the words it had just spoken. Mrs. Black, who presumably had dictated the Howler seemed to Robena to slip just slightly on the second-to-last sentence, her imperious voice faltering the smallest extent. Robena’s mind burned with questions and so she tried Lucius one last time, even while knowing she might regret it.

“I can speak to your father if you want to have a celebration. I’m sure we can come up with something.”

At this, Lucius froze with his quill still in place on the paper. He glared at her with such rancor that it took Robena aback. “Don’t even think about it,” he said in a low, hostile tone. 

Robena drew herself up in her chair, meeting Lucius’ icy stare with a placid one of her own. “Every child deserves a celebration of his birth, Lucius,” she said, softening her voice. “Presents, a party, the usual refinements…” 

Lucius set his quill down very precisely and then put his elbows on the table, interlocking his fingers and looking at Robena over them. “Miss March, I want nothing for my birthday,” he said, his voice steely and calm. “As for presents, I get the best of everything on any day that ends in a _Y._ As for parties, I think you’ll find that those my father hosts are some of the most _refined_ in the wizarding world.” He dropped his voice and leaned in towards Robena now. “As to how my father feels about my birthday, the most valuable present you can possibly give me is to let the matter drop, both to me and to him. Have I made myself clear?”

Ordinarily, Robena would not have tolerated any such behavior from a charge, but in Lucius’ case, his conviction regarding the matter was so strong that Robena merely nodded. It was obvious that there was some deep and unhealed hurt here, something she didn’t dare re-open. Thus convinced that Robena would indeed leave it alone, Lucius dropped his head once more and worked on his sums. Robena watched him for a moment before she played with a corner of the Howler, running its contents as well as their aftermath over and over in her head. 

The following day, Lucius had turned back to his usual witty, clever self, acting as if nothing had happened between them. His only change was to flatter Robena more and act even politer and more compliant than usual. Robena took it as a tacit apology for his harsh behavior of the previous day and so they quickly regained their easy relationship. When lessons waned, Robena regaled Lucius with tales of the Selwyn children, who Lucius of course knew, as well as tales from her own head, some myths and legends, and some that she made up on the fly, all of which Lucius seemed to enjoy. For the time being, all was well.

A few weeks later, Robena sat at the baby grand piano in the small conservatory of Malfoy Manor, attempting to curate a repertoire of pieces for Lucius to play. As she had done with his academics earlier on, Robena was starting to gauge Lucius’ skill level in piano and find music appropriate to it, all the while thanking everything holy that Abraxas’ allowed Muggle composers. Lucius had hinted that music had been the bailiwick of his late mother, which would explain why Abraxas did not pay it too much heed. Robena fingered the sheet music in a pile, rifling through it absently. Buried halfway down was a Beethoven theme and variations, one known to Robena, and so she placed it on the stand and began to play, starting with the theme. 

Such was her familiarity with the piece that Robena found her mind wandering. She thought about the last time she had played it, at the Selwyns’ house with Francois there to listen. He had always enjoyed her playing, whether it was a pop tune by the Wyvern’s Fancy, a wizarding rock band, or a classical Muggle composer. Francois always said that he could play about as well as pigs could fly, so would rather listen to her. Robena smiled at the memory. 

Robena and Francois had parted on terms she could only describe as complicated, but had not exactly ended their relationship either. However, Robena didn’t dare write him a letter, not while strongly suspecting that Abraxas read everything she posted. She had written letters since their last conversation and, as sanctioned, put every single one to the house elves, lest Abraxas believe that she was onto him. Robena wrote innocuous ones to Hogwarts acquaintances and to the rest of the Selwyns, but with the probability of Abraxas' surveillance, she didn’t dare post one to Francois, innocuous or otherwise. 

Thus, Robena longed to see Francois, both in romantic terms and also because she had thousands of questions for him as the one and only member of the Sacred 28 families that she could possibly trust. During her tenure at Selwyn Close, Francois had treated her with respect, affection, and adoration, her oasis in the pureblood desert of contempt, condescension and outright hostility. Robena slipped from the Beethoven theme to the first variation almost unconsciously as she remembered the first time she had met Francois. 

She had been sitting in the small parlor adjacent to the nursery playing Exploding Snap with two of the younger members of the Selwyn clan. She was up by two points, having taken four of the Invariable Tricks. She was in the midst of working the angle of the Variable Tricks, to figure out which of the children had the cards she needed to complete them. Based on the cards left in the pile, and Rosemary Selwyn’s appallingly open face for such things, the child had to have at least one. 

Francois entered the room and leaned casually on the door jamb, eyeing the scene. He was short, perhaps an inch taller than Robena herself, but he carried himself with an easy assurance that transcended the arrogance of his pedigree. It was clear that he was eminently comfortable in his own skin. He had tousled dark hair and flashing dark eyes beneath shapely, expressive brows, one of which was cocked, seemingly pulling up a corner of his mouth in interest at Robena’s presence.

Before Robena could say anything, Francois crossed the room, flipped the North chair of the table backwards and sat astride it. “Deal me in,” he said. 

Robena frowned. “The Invariable Tricks are already down,” she argued. “It’s too late.” 

Francois propped his chin in one hand, his elbow up on the table. He locked eyes with Robena. “I can stand to lose. Deal me in, if you please.”

Robena’s frown deepened, but she dealt him the requisite four cards. Francois picked them up, studied them for a few heartbeats before frowning also, exchanging two, and then playing all four with a triumphant smile. Robena looked at the cards Francois had played, two sixes, a three, and a nine, hardly an impressive play. Clearly, Francois meant what he said about not minding losing. Still, he did look inordinately pleased with himself, grinning like a Cornish pixie. Robena returned his look with a polite if somewhat bemused smile, and went to draw a card. Francois’ hand shot out and caught hers. Robena blushed idiotically. “Wh-what are you doing?” she managed.

“I won.” 

“I beg your pardon?”

Francois carefully moved Robena’s hand out of the way. He turned his attention to the sister on his right. “What do you have, Rosemary?” he asked. Rosemary sighed. She was a stolid, not terribly bright girl of twelve. “A ten of wings and a nine of opals.” 

Francois turned his attention to his other sister. “Emeline?” 

Emeline was ten, with a cupid’s bow mouth and masses of fuzzy blonde hair that encircled her head like candy floss. “The Duchess and the Monkey.” 

Francois looked back to Robena. “And you?” He had pitched his voice low, his smile now sly. 

Robena swallowed, wondering why her face still felt so warm. She put her cards down and looked at what Francois had played, attempting to figure his angle. Then she saw it. “Double Midnight,” she said with some awe. It was an obscure play, almost never seen and involving a certain measure of intuition, nerve, and careful calculation. She looked back at him. “How did you know?” 

Francois stood. “Walk with me and I’ll tell you.”

Robena gave her two charges a look of consternation. “I really shouldn’t leave—“

“Emma and Rosie, do you need governing right now?”

The two girls, bored with the semi-grown-ups’ incomprehensible flirting, had begun dismantling the game and building an exploding castle with the deck. Thus engaged, they ignored their brother completely. Francois turned his attention back to Robena. “I think they’re fine,” he said. 

Robena shrugged, and then stood to join Francois. “I’m Robena. Robena March.”

Francois smiled at her as he held the parlor door open for her. “I know who you are Robena-Robena March,” he said. “I’m Francois-Francois Sel—“

“I know who you are too,” Robena said quickly. 

“Very well, that’s cleared out of the way.” Francois started off down a hall. Like many others in the Selwyn residence, lush plants and herbs that thrived in the massive south-facing windows lined the floor and hung from the window frames. Francois stroked the leaves idly as he walked. His eyes darted around and his lips moved subtly, as if giving voice to hundreds of thoughts all crossing his mind at the same time.

“Um…the Double Midnight?” Robena prompted.

Francois stopped for a moment, graceful brows drawn together, before realizing what she was asking. “Right, that,” he said. Robena frowned. For all his cleverness, Francois Selwyn had the attention span of a gnat. He picked up his cadence once again down the hall as he explained. “Well, first off, Rosie has a tell, if you hadn’t noticed…” 

After he explained how he had executed the play, their conversation moved to other games they both enjoyed, other activities, and their time at Hogwarts. Francois had only spent three years there before transferring to Durmstrang, which was why Robena didn’t remember him. The conversation ranged to other topics that held both of them for a surprisingly long time. Before Robena realized it, the elegant chimes in the atrium were striking six and she had to dash off, pleasantly astonished at how quickly the afternoon had sped by.

Their courtship progressed rapidly in the following weeks of that glorious summer. Robena had hardly found anyone with whom she had connected so easily, and to whom she was so attracted. Even though Francois was not the most handsome man Robena had ever seen, he was funny, quick, and charmingly gullible, which improved his physical features in a way that Robena found pleasing. Of course they had to keep their relationship secret, based not only on Robena’s capacity as the hired help, but her blood status as well. Moreover, as the eldest of that Selwyn branch, Francois was poised to inherit the estate of Selwyn Close. Even Robena had to admit that her part of their pairing smacked of Galleon-digging, although she knew that it was not her intention. She genuinely liked Francois, and was perhaps a trifle infatuated with him, but hadn’t even considered a future with him.

Consummating their relationship had been easy: Selwyn Close was built on a small lake, and Francois had taken over the boathouse, making the moldering, neglected building quite habitable and cozy with magic, house elf help, and grit. With the main household safely ensconced in bed, Robena would trip lightly across the grounds, keeping cover using the shrubbery and knock discretely at the weathered back door. Francois would let her in, the soft golden lamp light illuminating his puckish face and seductive expression. They would then couple enthusiastically, and afterwards talk well into the night. 

Francois did not live at Selwyn Close full time. He had a job he absolutely adored, working for Gringott’s Bank consulting with innovators and deciding whether or not the bank should invest in their projects. It was an ideal sort of career for someone of his cleverness and desire to do something different every day. But it did keep him away from the household more than Robena might have liked. Over time, his absences became more prolonged as he became more involved with work. None of that stopped Robena from wanting to see him when he did show up though. It was almost as if the longer he stayed away, the more Robena wanted him when he did return, a passion that ultimately cost her her job, and thus factored heavily in her taking her current employ with the Malfoys.

Everything came to a head one night after Francois had been gone for two months, the longest that he and Robena had ever gone without seeing each other. He arrived in the atrium as Robena was descending the sweeping staircase with two of the girls in tow. Adelaide Selwyn, Francois’ mother, went to embrace Francois, but he had seen Robena and she him. Adelaide paused for one moment, doing a double take at Robena’s face. Robena had hardly seen such a cold look on anyone in her life and realized quickly that she was in trouble.

Even though she knew it was foolish, Robena couldn’t stop herself from going to the boathouse that night. She waited until later than usual, when she was completely assured that no one stirred. Before she crossed down through the servants’ staircase and back out through the kitchen, she cast a Disillusionment charm on herself, ensuring that not even a house elf or an owl could see her. She and Francois made love fervently, but kept their conversation after short, as it was late and Robena knew that she risked much going to see him for even a brief period of time. 

Reluctantly, Robena wished Francois good night and made her way stealthily back to the main house, once again under her Disillusionment charm. As she got to the kitchen door, she dropped the charm before she reached for the knob, but as she did, the door opened by itself. Startled, Robena pulled her hand back. Adelaide stood on the threshold, one hand on the doorknob, the other curled gracefully around her illuminated wand. Her stern expression revealed little, nor did she utter a single word. She merely stared Robena down. 

The moment expanded. Neither woman spoke. Finally, Robena ducked her head and crept into the kitchen, her face afire. She expected Adelaide to follow her, but when Robena turned around, Adelaide had disappeared. The following day, Ulrich Selwyn called Robena into his office and had his tete-a-tete with her regarding pureblood and Muggle-born mixing and how it was inappropriate at best, depraved at worst. Coward that Ulrich was, he never outright accused her of being a blood-mixing trollop, but even in his meandering way, the implications were nonetheless clear. 

Ulrich concluded by strongly encouraging Robena to resign, _for the best of everyone involved_ , although with the promise of providing a good reference to her next employer. It was an unstated form of reverse blackmail and Robena could see straight through it. The Selwyns would preserve her reputation if she would preserve theirs in not revealing that she, the filthy-blooded help, had seduced their precious, pure-blooded son. 

Robena did see Francois once more prior to leaving the Selwyns. She had just put in her two weeks' notice with Ulrich, and was just coming down the hall, when Francois emerged from one of the drawing rooms. He looked left and right and then pulled her in with him. “You’re leaving?” he said. “Just like that?” His expression was wounded.

“Yes,” she answered, tight lipped. “It’s not as if I can stay. And why would I? I’m not wanted…”

“ _I_ want you.” Robena expected Francois meant it as romantic, but it fell on her ears as just being petulant. 

She moved away from him and crossed her arms. “Then by all means, go into your father’s study and fight for my honor, Francois.” Her command was colder than she had meant, but neither did she find herself retracting it.

In response, Francois looked away from her, which only hardened Robena’s heart more. 

“No?” Robena pressed on. “Well then, let’s just leave it as you dallying with a family servant. Far simpler, wouldn’t you say?” 

Francois’ dark eyes snapped to hers once again. “It wasn’t like that,” he said, stung. “And _simple_ is the last thing I would call it.”

“Indeed? What was it then, Francois? That you were bored and lascivious?”

Francois laughed, but it was bitter. “Me? What about you? If I dallied with a family servant, than you seduced the heir to a pureblood fortune. What were _you_ hoping for?”

Robena wanted to slap him but instead she found herself feeling sorry for him. She just shook her head. “That’s your parents talking, Francois, not you.” Not interested in prolonging the conversation further, Robena walked back to the door. “If you ever grow a spine and your own personality, send me an owl,” she said. With that, Robena turned around and left without looking back.

As she walked down the hall, angry tears pricked at her eyes and threatened to spill. Part of her wanted to rush back and apologize for her harsh words, but she wondered what the point would be. The truth was, their relationship, such as it was, was murky; in that Francois was correct. Robena had enjoyed their fling, but could admit that it was merely that. She certainly didn’t want to marry into the Selwyn family. If its senior members didn’t disinherit Francois out of hand for such a filthy act of sedition, Robena could look forward to a lifetime of icy treatment and resentment, not only from the Selwyns, but from every family that they associated with. Robena had no interest in that sort of a life, and cared enough about Francois not to want it for him either. 

No, it was better this way, but it did leave the question about exactly what they were to each other. Their positions were not equal, but then again, Francois was not her direct employer either. And maybe there was a grain of truth in the ugly things that they had said to each other, as well as what the Francois’ parents had suspected. Perhaps Robena and Francois were both bored and lascivious, Francois was taking advantage of his position over the hired help, and Robena readily complied, impressed by his lineage, connections, and wealth. She liked to think that she was above such things, but maybe she was shallower than she thought. Despite all of it, she did still care for Francois, and thought of him often as the weeks turned to months. She missed him, plain and simple.

Back in the Malfoys’ small conservatory, Robena had by then played through the sixth variation. She finished the last note and then folded her arms across her belly so she could massage her forearms. The last variation was always a workout for her arms and wrists, and her hands weren’t big enough to generate the power necessary not to be sore after. That, or she was woefully out of practice. Probably both. When she looked up, Lucius stood just inside the door, watching her solemnly. She hadn't even heard him come in. “Yes, Lucius, what is it?” Robena asked, sounding tired to her own ears.

Lucius merely tilted his head to the side. “That sounded nice."

Robena smiled slightly. “Thank you." She paused for a moment. “Was there something that you needed?” 

“Only to tell you that Father is throwing a party and he’s inviting the Selwyns.” Lucius smiled at Robena innocently. “I thought you’d be interested to know that.”

FIVE: ARRANGEMENT

In a different ancient pureblood household, Druella Black sat at her vanity, attending to her abundant black curls. Her fingers moved deftly through the ebony mass, securing it with jet pins to pull it off of her fine-featured face but let it tumble down her back. She turned her head this way and that slowly, appraising her efforts. _Not bad,_ she thought with approval. She then leaned into her mirror and studied her face, grimacing at the crows’ feet pulling at the corners of her eyes. 

Forty had come and gone a year hence and her face was starting to reveal the toll of middle age. Ah, but her hair, not a streak of gray crossed it, and it still had its luster and volume. Druella smiled slightly. Not that any of her remaining physical assets mattered to her husband Cygnus, not now, nor ever. No, his desires had always lain elsewhere. Druella selected a pair of tasteful diamond studs and attached them to her earlobes where they sparkled in the ample daylight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows of her bedchamber. 

Despite his indifference, Cygnus had done his duty by her, not once, not twice, but thrice, as evidenced by their three daughters. Aside from that, he had not deigned to touch her, at least not in that way. And only Bellatrix had been truly planned, on their third wedding anniversary, when they were supposed to initiate such things. Andromeda and Narcissa, well…substances had been a factor, at least where Cygnus was concerned, but his presence in Druella's bed and its subsequent aftermath, while not intentional, was not unwelcome either. 

Druella checked her appearance once more before standing and turning from her vanity. She had to admit that Cygnus, while neither passionate nor amorous towards her, had always been respectful, cordial and solicitous. She and the girls had wanted for naught and he was a doting and generous father with them. Over time, Cygnus and Druella had formed an alliance that, while not romantic, was nonetheless strong: they understood each other and wanted the same things. As far as Druella was concerned, one could not ask much more of a marriage borne of ancestral strategy. _Yes,_ she thought, as her eye caught the cream-colored envelope that lay perfectly centered on the round glass-topped table next to her vanity, _things could certainly have been worse,_ Centered on the envelope was the Malfoy _M_ , embossed in blood-red wax. 

Druella picked it up, the parchment smooth and cool in her hands, the quality of the material inherent in its weight and texture. Druella broke the seal, lifted out the folded card stock, and read its contents: _Mr. and Mrs. Cygnus Black &c., the Malfoy family requests your presence at Malfoy Manor Saturday, December 21st, at eight o’clock in the evening for our annual Solstice Ball. Formal attire._ The writing was elegant Edwardian script in gold ink. 

Druella smirked. Leave it to Abraxas Malfoy not to include any RSVP or location information whatsoever. The inference she could draw from this was crystal clear: if one was invited to a Malfoy event, one _would_ attend and subsequently know where to go. Moreover, it was as obvious to Druella as it would have been to anyone who knew Abraxas that the party was going to double as a cover for a meeting of the Coterie of Oberon, or at the very least, a clandestine conducting of Coterie business. 

In fact, Druella noted that although the invitation was folded in half, only the very front contained information. When Druella unfolded it and held it up to the light, she noted the magical watermark worked into the paper itself, a mosaic of arcane symbols that spun in a languid circle. While Druella did not know what they meant, she could interpret them as symbols used strictly as Coterie of Oberon ciphers. 

Druella had known for many years that Cygnus was in the Coterie. Every patriarch and most age-of-majority sons of respected families were. Membership in the ancient secret society of pureblood wizards was practically a rite of passage, but one strictly reserved for males, much to Druella’s frustration. After all, she was as powerful as Cygnus magically, perhaps even more so in some ways. Her blood was as pure as his. She had brought equal wealth to their union. And most importantly, she was smarter and more cunning than he was. Why should she and other witches of her pedigree be denied entrance simply because of their sex? This backward fact had always struck Druella as patently unfair. The Coterie existed within the wizarding world, the same one that had prided itself for time out of mind as transcended above the Muggle world in its equitable treatment of the sexes. 

Even so, Druella had to admit that she knew more about the Coterie than most outsiders, which was to say, most women, through her own innovation and ruthlessness. Early in their marriage, Druella had discovered her husband’s sexual proclivities beyond his reticence to come to her bed. She observed the way that Cygnus’ hand rested a moment to long on the shoulder of the young men that visited their home of Blackwood Hall and the way his eyes traveled down their lithe, young bodies. Over time, Druella noticed that the more she looked for it, the more she saw it. Then, at one of the Malfoys' many soirees, she watched as Abraxas Malfoy, that most illustrious of pimps, introduced Cygnus to a young Quidditch Seeker, slight, with large, doe-like eyes, a rookie in one of the professional leagues, of age, thank Merlin, but only just. 

Cygnus was friendly with the youth, but clapped him on the shoulder or on the knee with increasing frequency and intensity as the drink emboldened him. His face flushed, Cygnus paid more and more attention to the lad, eventually to the exclusion of all others at the party. Druella also noticed that even as Cygnus’ eyes never left his quarry’s face, Abraxas’ eyes never left Cygnus. Druella could only watch with consternation as Abraxas took in the entire scene with the calculation of a man opening a winning gambit in Wizard’s chess. 

When Druella looked back at the happy pair, the young man had disappeared. Druella had expected Cygnus to react with disappointment, but instead she could see the slight resting tremor in Cygnus’ hands, the sweat beading on his forehead, and the furtive glances he stole from the room around him. After a moment, Cygnus stood, adjusted his trousers, drained his drink with a gulp, and placed the empty crystal glass on the upraised silver tray of a passing house elf. Cygnus took one more look around him for good measure and then ducked out through an open door to the rear of the ballroom.

Druella excused herself from the conversation she was having with Laila Malfoy. They were both pregnant at the time, Druella ravenous with Andromeda and Laila wan with Lucius, _the pregnancy that would eventually kill her, the poor dear,_ Druella recalled with sadness. Following Cygnus’ departure, Druella stood somewhat awkwardly due to her swollen belly and followed him in the direction she had seen him go. Through every one of her pregnancies, Druella found both her physical and her psychic senses heightened, so discovering Cygnus was easy enough. 

Although the two lovers were attempting to be quiet, Cygnus had always had a difficult time containing his excitement. From a nearby parlor, Druella heard the familiar sound of Cygnus’ moans and frantic breathing, similar to how he had been with her, but with more urgency. Druella wasted no time. She crossed the threshold in two steps and drew her wand. _”Lumos,”_ she said calmly. The end of her wand lit with a brilliant blue glow, illuminating the tawdry scene.

It would have shocked Druella had she not expected it. His trousers now around his ankles, Cygnus had his head tilted back and his fingers clenched in the Seeker’s golden curls as the lad knelt in front of him, bringing forth the sounds Druella had heard. Cygnus let go and turned with a look that quickly moved from frustration to panic. The boy scrambled away from him, stood and bolted for the door. To Druella’s both vexation and amusement, he muttered, “sorry, ma’am,” as he rushed by her. 

Cygnus attended to his trousers, his face even ruddier than usual, making his ridiculous sandy mutton chops stand out in sharp relief. “Ella,” he said brusquely, “sorry you had to see that. Got carried away.” 

“We’ll speak at home, Cygnus,” she replied coldly before turning on her heel and leaving him fumbling with his zipper and his unrequited desire.

Back in Blackwood Hall, Druella opted to act like nothing had happened. For his part, Cygnus walked on eggshells around her for several days before letting his guard down. His relief at her apparent forgiveness was evident in the gifts he lavished on her: jewelry, flowers, even a music box constructed with fairy bells that must have cost him a dragon's ransom. 

Druella waited patiently, hoarding her information like a Gringott’s goblin for the day that she could use it as leverage. The opportunity to test the waters came soon after. Saturday was traditionally the day that they hosted Cygnus’ parents Pollux and Irma Black or vice versa. Pollux was older than his wife by at least twenty years. He was a wizard bent by age and more content to nap than to socialize. Still, he kissed Druella’s hand dutifully before sitting on the divan and letting a house elf prop him up with pillows and then cover his legs with a blanket. For her part, Irma doted on Cygnus, proud of his accomplishments and apparent virility in siring this second child, no doubt a son this time.

Irma walked in and, as usual, immediately pounced on Druella’s burgeoning belly, displaying none of the decorum and discretion that she demonstrated in other parts of her life. No, the unborn child in Druella’s womb was no less than Irma’s property, another Black to carry on the pureblood legacy. “It’s a son this time, I’m sure of it,” she crowed, her brown eyes sparkling triumphantly as she stroked Druella’s protruding abdomen with her heavily bejeweled fingers. 

Disgusted and yet resigned to Irma’s forced intimacy, Druella forced a sugary, beatific smile onto her face. “Yes, a boy would certainly be a blessing,” she said. “After all, Cygnus just _loves_ boys, don’t you, dear?” Druella turned her face to Cygnus but allowed her gaze to remain cold and calculating. Cygnus choked on his tea and glared at her, his eyes now watering.

Irma, misinterpreting Cygnus’ reaction of embarrassment and guilt as one of heartfelt emotion, now turned her attention to her son. Ever demonstrative where Cygnus was concerned, she crossed to him and took one of his hands in both of hers, stroking his palm. “Oh, my dear, of course you do!” Now Irma was the one to tear up in seeing such a wanton display of feeling in Cygnus. “Of course you want a boy to carry on the family name. Such a man you are!” 

“He wants a boy all right,” Druella responded grimly, taking a sip of her tea, “he wants all the boys in the world.” 

Cygnus’ face now turned bright red again. He harrumphed, and pulled his hand free. “Tea, mother?” he managed, glaring daggers at Druella. Much later, after his parents had left, Cygnus wasted no time. He saw them to the foyer, where Irma Apparated, Side-Alonging Pollux, who was too old to do it without Splinching. As soon as they disappeared, Cygnus took Druella by the arm and steered her into the adjacent drawing room, slamming the door. “What in the name of Hades were you trying to do to me, Ella?” he growled at her, dropping her arm.

Druella didn’t answer him right away. She passed a finger over the surface of one of the polished oak tables before rubbing it with her thumb. Satisfied with its cleanliness, she turned her attention back to her husband. “Surely you have nothing to hide from your own parents, Cygnus." 

Cygnus’ brows drew together and he looked down at the parquet floor, but said nothing. 

“What?” Druella continued. “You don’t suppose they would be _upset_ if they knew the truth, now do you?”

Cygnus looked back up at her, defeat written in his drawn eyebrows and down-turned mouth. “What do you want, Ella?”

“Nothing major,” Druella said, shrugging. “Only for you tell me everything to which you are privy regarding the Coterie of Oberon.” 

Cygnus frowned. “It’s a secret society, Ella,” he replied flatly. “I can’t tell you anything. That’s rather the point.”

Druella smiled coldly. “No, it most assuredly is _not_ a secret society. It’s a poorly-concealed society that keeps secrets. But if that’s your demeanor, then I don’t suppose it should bother you, my letting your depraved behavior and blatant infidelity slip to your mother.”

Cygnus returned her smile with a weak, wavering one of his own. “Ella, do please be reasonable. Were I to reveal anything about the Coterie, at best I would be blacklisted, at worst, assassinated.” His voice took on a pleading tone that filled Druella with disdain. 

“Reasonable?” she hissed, her smile gone. “Is it _reasonable_ that I have to stand idly by while you bugger barely-of-age teenage boys, blithely ignoring your marriage vows and thus the standards of decent society? Is it reasonable that the most prestigious of secret organizations denies membership to me and my fellow witches due merely to our sex? Is it reasonable that Abraxas Malfoy and his cronies know more about you than I do?” During her impassioned speech, Druella had found that her hands had clenched to fists. 

“Ella, please. Think of the baby.”

“No, _you_ think of the baby and what you are putting her mother through.” Druella had added the baby’s sex unconsciously, but knew it was true as soon as she said it. Still, she could feel her already over-clocked heart racing and forced herself to take a deep breath and then another. Sensing her distress, Andromeda kicked, a small and painless jab to the right side of her ribs. Druella took another breath, willing herself to calm. She looked at Cygnus. “I’m sure that you’ll think of something,” she finished before turning from him and exiting the room, slamming the door behind her.

Now, over a decade later, Druella knew plenty about the Coterie. Even though Pollux and Irma were becoming more forgetful and self-absorbed in the way that the elderly do and so weakening Druella’s blackmail threat, Cygnus continued to leak what he reasonably could. Druella craved more information, always: information generally, and secrets specifically, were the true currency of the pureblood realm. Still, Druella became aware as the years passed that there were certain things that Cygnus literally could not tell her, information that the arcane rites of the Coterie had sealed deep within him. 

Over time, Druella and Cygnus had come to a comfortable arrangement: Cygnus would tell her what Coterie business he could and Druella would conveniently ignore Cygnus’ lapses in marital commitment. These manifested not only as sneaking out during parties, but also as trips to the more exotic brothels of Knockturn Alley, some rumored to house half-incubi, if one could believe such sordid gossip. Furthermore, Cygnus could rely on Druella’s discretion regarding the Coterie as well. As Druella was well aware, should Cygnus fall, he would most assuredly take her and the girls down with him merely by default. And Druella had no intention of falling. 

SIX: THE SISTERS BLACK

The familiar sound of her daughters arguing as they approached her room cut Druella's reminiscence short. As usual, Bellatrix’ voice was the most strident: “I get to go because I’m the eldest, ‘Dromeda. You’re too much of a child.” Druella sighed quietly. Bella was home on break from her first year at Hogwarts. Although Druella would never describe Bella as kind, ever since she had received her letter, she had become nigh-insufferable to her younger sisters.

Now Andromeda spoke up, her voice lower and calmer than Bellatrix,’ but no less determined. “I’m eleven months and three days younger than you merely. If I’m a child, you are barely less so.”

“Well, we shall see, won’t we?” 

Bellatrix appeared at the doorway first. She was a well-built girl with unruly masses of black curls that she brushed indifferently and only when Druella reminded her. Bellatrix was not beautiful, but something about her was striking and dynamic, so she tended to be impossible to ignore. When she entered a room, she had a tendency to suck all of the air out of it, making her an exhausting, but never boring, child to rear. “Mother?” she said.

Druella smiled at her tolerantly. “Yes, dear?”

Bellatrix’ eyes lit up as they flicked to the Malfoys’ invitation on the table. She dashed across the room and grabbed the envelope, holding it up triumphantly. Before Druella could protest, Bella was reading its contents, her mouth silently moving. As she read, her face fell. “Oh...Mr. and Mrs. Cygnus Black, _etcetera._ That means the whole family.” She brightened once more, however. “But mother, surely you’re not bringing ‘Dromeda and Cissy, are you? They are far too young for such an elegant ball.” 

Druella reached out her hand and snatched the invitation back. “First off, Bella, that is not yours. You must learn to guard your impulses more carefully, dear.” Andromeda hid a smile behind her hand. Bellatrix shot her sister a murderous look before turning her attention back to Druella, who continued with tranquility, “Secondly, your attendance or lack thereof at the Malfoys’ ball hinges entirely on your behavior, a fact that holds true for all three of you young ladies.” Bella sulked, but dared not say anything further. “And third of all, and perhaps most importantly, my sweet first-born, I am quite disinclined to include you at all after your appalling behavior towards Lucius at the Malfoys’ last ball.”

Bellatrix now glared at Druella. “He started it! He’s a beastly little boy with no business practicing magic at all, much less cursing anyone!” 

Andromeda now spoke up. “To be fair, Bella, you did break his broomstick. On purpose.” 

“That was an accident!”

“Like how his face ‘accidentally’ wound up beneath your fists, Bella?” Druella asked calmly. Bellatrix said nothing, just crossed her arms and sat down on a green velveteen armchair, her face a thundercloud. Druella sighed again. Bellatrix had also always possessed a woefully short fuse; Druella supposed that she and Cygnus had it coming, christening her with such a warlike name. Druella continued, “The bottom line is that we must tread carefully where the Malfoys are concerned.”

Bellatrix rolled her eyes. “Since when are we scared of _them_ , mother? You told me we were above all that: that fearing the Malfoys was for peasants.” 

Druella suppressed a smile. “Now, Bella, that’s not exactly what I said. Granted, you needn’t _fear_ the Malfoys and if Lucius does something egregious, I would expect you to stand up for yourself.”

Bella’s eyes flared. “But that’s what I _did,_ mother. _He’s_ the one that—“

“However,” Druella cut Bella’s rant short, “the simple fact is that allying with the Malfoys is inevitable as well as pragmatic, especially considering that it has always been the intention of our two families to have one of you three girls marry Lucius eventually.” 

Bellatrix looked horrified. “Not me, mother. I’d probably kill him in his sleep. Or waking. It makes no difference to me.” She grinned, a savage grimace that Druella found a touch terrifying. “’Dromeda can do it.” 

Andromeda scoffed before cultivating a look of haughtiness on her features, fine where Bella was coarse, beautiful where Bella was striking, almost as if Bellatrix’ looks were a preliminary sketch for Andromeda’s masterpiece painting. “Nor I either. I’m afraid Lucius isn’t my type.” 

If anything, Bellatrix’ grin widened. “I guess that leaves Cissy.”

“ ‘I guess that leaves Cissy’ to do what?” All three turned to find the youngest of the Black sisters now at the door, an open book hanging from her fingers. 

“For Merlin’s sake, stand up straight,” Druella greeted her.

Narcissa obligingly pulled her shoulders back and entered the room, standing just inside. Although the youngest, she was already taller than both of her elder sisters, so was often mistaken as being the eldest herself, a fact that both Andromeda and Bellatrix hotly resented. What this had engendered in Narcissa was insecurity about her stature that manifested not only in poor posture, but in a desire to become invisible and when she was visible, to please everyone around her. By all rights, this tractability should have made her the favorite, but more often than not, she found herself at the brunt of jokes and contempt by her family. This treatment simply cemented her will to let surroundings absorb her, whether that meant books or the grand piano in the music room. 

Bellatrix stood and crossed to her. She took the taller girl by the shoulders and looked up into her face. “Cissy, I’m afraid you’re being asked to do something disgusting and horrible for the good of the family.”

Narcissa looked at Bellatrix warily. “What?” 

Bellatrix’ sigh was dramatic and deep. “You’re going to have to marry Lucius Malfoy, the rotten little prat.” She now tilted her head to the side. “I know it’s vile, but you’re simply going to have to brave and do it. I’m so sorry, sister. Best of luck.” 

Behind her, Andromeda snickered. 

“Girls, that’s enough,” Druella said. She looked at Narcissa, before doing a double take at the dreamy expression on her face. Druella knew that if the other girls noticed it and what it implied, they would tease her mercilessly at best and refer what was likely a crush to Lucius himself at worst. To help her save face, Druella said, “My goodness, Narcissa, is that frock already too short for you?” 

Breaking out of her reverie with some reluctance, Narcissa crossed to Druella and stood in front of her. Druella gently took the book from Narcissa and, remembered what page she was on, set the it aside and straightened Narcissa’s arms at her sides. The cuffs of her flowered dress cleared her wrists by a good two inches. “We must get you a new gown for the ball, at the very least,” Druella murmured.

Based on the general outcry, one would think that Druella had discharged an Unforgivable Curse.

“How come _she_ gets a new gown?”

“I want a new gown too, if _’Cissy_ gets one.”

Druella held up a hand and Bellatrix and Andromeda thankfully fell silent. “If, _if_ the three of you can behave with decorum and harmony for the next few days, we shall see about getting all three of you new gowns for the ball, but it shall not be until the day prior to said event. Any bickering, any spite, any untoward behavior in the interim and _none_ shall receive new gowns, much less attend the ball. I’ll not have my daughters acting like uncivilized Mudblood animals. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, mother.”

“Yes, mother.”

Narcissa said nothing, but was staring into the distance, once again with the far-off look on her face. “Narcissa?”

Narcissa looked at Druella. “Of course, mother,” she replied before she took her book back tentatively.

“Page 97,” Druella reminded her.

Narcissa flipped to the correct page and walked out of the room, already lost back into the book’s content. The other two followed behind her, now bickering in whispers instead of shouts. Druella let her shoulders relax. Her threat would buy the household a few days’ peace at least, and she knew in the end, she and Cygnus would take all three girls to the ball; luckily, none was experienced enough yet to call her bluff. After all, they were all old enough to start participating in and learning more about pureblood wizarding society and the Malfoys’ ball was as good an opportunity as any to do so. 

Druella picked up the invitation once more. Narcissa’s reaction to the idea of marrying Lucius was worthy of consideration, although Druella could admit that it was way too soon to take any of that seriously. Narcissa was just barely nine years of age, and nothing could be made of a childhood crush, one that could be erased in the capricious way of children just beginning to feel anything greater than simple friendship or enmity. Still, Druella supposed it was a blessing that one of her girls was not thoroughly appalled with the idea of marrying into the Malfoy family. That might make things far easier down the road. 

Druella left the invitation on the table and took one more look in her mirror, her mind already ticking steadily as she thought of the conversation between herself and her children. Children they may be, but it was never too early to start securing their future and their legacy. As their mother, it was the least that Druella could do for them. She nodded firmly at her reflection and then stood. It was time to plan.


	3. Ch. 7: The Fell Circle; Ch. 8: Confession; Ch. 9: Discipline; Ch. 10: Entreaty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starting to trust her more, Lucius proudly shows Robena a secret aspect of Malfoy Manor, one Robena discovers is steeped in Dark Arts. Lucius reveals that it's actually forbidden to him only after their visit. In an attempt to do the right thing, and in spite of Lucius' warning, Robena confesses Lucius' misstep to Abraxas. Abraxas makes his displeasure known to both Robena and Lucius in severe terms. Incensed and frightened by Abraxas' vicious reaction, Robena seriously considers quitting her post, but hesitates after Lucius' heartfelt plea for her to reconsider. Robena uncovers a clue regarding what happened to Lucius' previous governess.
> 
>  _Once again, Lucius’ smile slipped. “I don’t know,” he said. Without asking, he sat on the edge of Robena’s bed and put his head in his hands, his hair falling over his tensed fingers. “All I know is that I don’t want you to leave.” It was the most vulnerable and human that Robena had ever seen Lucius, and she realized that underneath all of his cleverness, cunning, arrogance, and bravado, he was no more than a frightened child._ A child who needs me, _she thought._

SEVEN: THE FELL CIRCLE

Robena snatched her hands back from the piano at Lucius’ announcement of the upcoming party. She looked away from him for a moment and, mostly to busy herself with something to hide her flustered reaction, grabbed the sheet music off the piano and took her time straightening it. When she looked back at Lucius, his brows were drawn down in puzzlement, a reasonable response based on her erratic behavior. Robena forced herself to smile. “Well,” she finally said hoarsely. She cleared her throat and tried again. “How nice that shall be. It’s always pleasant to see my former charges. It was kind of you to inform me, Lucius.”

“They’re all right. Father is generous to invite other children to his gatherings.” 

Robena’s heart ached for Lucius’ now-subdued tone. “Then they must be _your_ gatherings as well, surely.” After their conversation about Lucius’ birthday, in this area, Robena tread with care.

Lucius smiled slightly. “Perhaps." 

“Is there anyone you’re looking forward to seeing?”

Lucius’ eyes drifted sideways as he thought about the question. “Perry Selwyn,” he said. Robena barely hid a shudder, but as terrible as Percival Selwyn was, if he was important to Lucius, Robena would keep silent on her opinion while maintaining some degree of professionalism at the same time. “Andromeda Black…Walden McNair, Quintus Flint, Damian Rowle, and…Xandrine Parkinson.” 

“Well, there you go, your gathering indeed.”

Lucius’ smile widened, lighting his gray eyes for a moment. Something at the window distracted him and his smile faded as he walked over towards it. “We should take a walk, Miss March.” 

Robena looked out the window herself. Ominous dark clouds scudded across a cauldron-metal gray sky. “Should we though? Seems rather nasty weather for a turn about the grounds, wouldn’t you say?”

Lucius turned back to her, the smile returning to his face, now decidedly more cunning. “Nonsense. Weren’t you the one to tell me the other day that there is no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothing?”

Robena sighed, both amused and irritated with him. “Oh, sweet Merlin, what are you, an Advocate?” She did her best to sound vexed, but winked to let him know she wasn’t serious. 

“No, I’m not an Advocate. I’m a Malfoy.” 

“Oh, of course; how could I forget? Lead on, Master Malfoy.”

After they both found warm cloaks, Lucius led Robena through a back door onto a large stone terrace, where he stopped. Square planters dotted the pale surface, each bearing an expertly-manicured boxwood topiary cut into a perfect sphere with not a twig out of place. What it lacked in creativity, it made up for in symmetry. In fact, Robena found if she stood behind the first one, the others formed striated lines behind it that echoed each of the white crushed gravel pathways that led out into the formal gardens. 

Robena looked at Lucius out of the corner of her eye. His mouth was set in a tight line, his eyes cold. “Is there a problem, Lucius? Have the gardens insulted you in some way?”

Lucius turned to her. “I hate them. Father wants them in perfect order, no matter what.” 

Robena raised an eyebrow at this pronouncement. “Do you suppose they would grow some other way if not cut to such precision?”

Lucius looked at her sharply. “Of course, Miss March. They only look like that because of father’s will.” He moved slowly to the edge of the terrace before selecting a path and starting down it. “I cut one of them once, you know." He stopped at another boxwood topiary and let his fingers brush down the round surface. “I took a pair of hedge loppers and flattened one side, just like that.”

“What did your father have to say about that?”

Lucius shrugged. “He blamed the house elves and I didn’t correct him. They were punished. Life went on.” He dropped his hand and continued down the path towards the edge of the garden.

Robena shivered, and not completely from cold. 

“So, let’s not tarry. We’ll go somewhere more interesting and dare I say, wild?”

Robena followed Lucius through the wrought-iron gate in the tall yew border that formed the circumference of the Malfoy formal gardens and walked into the meadow, which really wasn’t much of a meadow now. The grass lay brown and broken under their feet, intermittently suppressed with frost and mud. An icy wind cut at them as they crossed it and Robena pulled her cloak tighter. Even as her eyes started to water, Lucius seemed impervious to the cold, marching purposefully towards the woods on this side of the Malfoy parkland. “Do you have a destination in mind?” she called to Lucius, who now walked ahead of her.

He turned and looked at her, his cheeks pink from the wind and the exercise. “Of course, Miss March. No sense in taking a walk if you don’t have a place to go, wouldn’t you say?”

“I don’t necessarily agree; sometimes wandering about is pleasant as well…”

“Perhaps so, but today I want to show you something.” Lucius headed for the trees, his shoes crunching on the leaf litter scattered on the ground, a reminder that summer was long gone and even autumn was well and truly through. As they continued through the woods, a light snow started to fall, catching in Robena’s eyelashes and hair. She looked up. Although it was late in the afternoon, the bare branches let sufficient light through to allow them to see their way easily, even with the overcast sky. When Robena looked ahead once more, she saw a strange formation.

In beholding it, the closest approximation Robena could make was of a giant bird’s nest, at least 20 meters across, centered in the clearing within which Lucius now stood. Robena felt her brows furrow. The closer she got, the more pressure in her chest built and the more her skin prickled, sensations that told her that powerful magic was close at hand. Now Robena could see that the structure was not a bird’s nest, but a circular fence built entirely out of twisted pieces of driftwood, crowned with hundreds of deer antlers. 

Lucius was right; whatever this Malfoy creation was, it was the antithesis to the formal gardens. “What do you think?” he asked, grinning at her.

Robena thought for a moment. “I couldn’t begin to tell you, Lucius, although I can honestly say that I’ve never seen anything like it.” 

Lucius beckoned, his eyes shining. He led her around the outside of the structure until they came to two pillars and a lintel post made of sculpted black marble veined in white. Robena looked up and saw Roman-style words _The Fell Circle_ chiseled into the dark stone. Lucius walked through the opening without hesitation and waited for her. “Are we allowed in here?” Robena asked.

“Of course, Miss March. Would I lead you into danger?”

Robena raised an eyebrow at that, but could give him no answer. She stepped fully into the circle and took her first good look around. Flawless white marble statues surrounded her, each of a different magical or mythical creature. Well, not completely flawless. On closer inspection, Robena found that each had a smear of deep red somewhere on them, here on a flank, there on a horn, elsewhere on a wing. She bent to examine one, a pegasus rearing, its marble mane frozen in time, each hair meticulously carved and a fierce expression still on its face. Robena reached her hand out but before she could touch the smooth surface of the pegasus’ neck, Lucius shot out his hand and stopped her.

“Don’t touch them,” he warned her.

“Why not?”

“Because you could die,” Lucius answered simply. He let go.

“What happened to not leading me into danger?” Robena retorted, folding her arms.

Lucius rolled his eyes. “Well, you won’t die if you _don’t_ touch them, Miss March.” 

“Of course. Silly me.”

“That’s odd.” Lucius looked past her.

Robena turned in the direction he was staring. “What’s odd?”

“One of the statues is missing.” 

Robena moved carefully across the circle, mindful of Lucius’ dire warning. Sure enough, between a chimera and a manticore sat an empty marble block. “Which one?”

Lucius frowned and turned slowly, his eyes taking in the rest of the circle. He counted, his mouth moving silently, his brow furrowed in concentration, before one corner of his mouth turned up. “ _La Sirene_ ,” he answered, turning the _I_ into a long _E_ and swallowing his _R_ in passable French. 

Lucius was being coy, obviously, but then again, so could Robena. “ _Mais pourquoi?_ ” 

Lucius’ frown returned. “I don’t know,” he answered in English.

“ _En francais, s’il te plait_ ,” Robena said in her sing-song teacher voice. 

“ _Je ne sais pas_ ,” Lucius huffed. “There. Might we switch back?”

Robena shrugged. “ _Comme tu veux_.”

Lucius narrowed his eyes. “I may not know,” he said, “but I can da—“ He caught himself before he used profanity in front of her. “I can find out. You don’t have a pin on you, do you?”

“Nice catch, Lucius,” Robena said. She had no idea what Lucius had in mind, and although he likely planned something dangerous, Robena found that her curiosity was getting the better of her. Robena unpinned her cloak and handed the pin to Lucius, holding her two lapels in place with one hand.

“Thank you, Miss March.” Lucius looked around the circle, his head cocked to the side. He then nodded once firmly and headed back across the circle. Before Robena could even think of hindering him, Lucius stopped in front of the dryad and stroked her arm gently with the back of his fingers. 

“What happened to ‘don’t touch them or you’ll die?’” Robena asked, hating how timid her voice suddenly sounded.

“I said _you_ would die. Not me. Not a Malfoy.”

“Ah. Of course not.” Before them, the nymph slowly started to move. First her white marble fingers started to twitch slightly, her arms started to move slowly, and finally her head and neck awoke. She lifted her face, her skin turned from white to pink, and her Grecian garment fell about in graceful folds, turning a deep green. Her marble curls became a reddish-gold color that seemed to shine in the gloom of the clearing. 

As this transformation took place, Lucius pinched his left thumb and index finger together, making his thumb turn pink and then red. He then took the pin and poked the engorged surface of his thumb, drawing his breath between his teeth as he did. A small dot of crimson followed. Lucius squeezed his thumb until the dot became a line, dripping down the side of his hand.

The dryad turned her head towards Lucius finally and regarded him. “What is your will?” she asked, her voice cool. 

“What happened to the siren?” Lucius asked with equal chill. 

The dryad looked away and down at the ground. To Robena’s surprise, tears formed in the corners of the dryad’s aqua eyes. “Gone."

“Yes,” Lucius said, unmoved. “Any fool with eyes can see that. You’d better give me something more.” He held his thumb up so she could see the blood dripping down. 

The dryad’s eyes widened in fear, fixed on that thin line of red. “Your sire took her, but she’ll return, more silent than before. So has it always been done. No more can I say.”

Lucius took a step towards her, his thumb lifted, his jaw set with resolve. 

“No, please!” The dryad held up her other arm, which bore a smear of what Robena now realized was blood. “I am bound to an oath of silence from your sire; if you try and bind me with the opposite oath, you’ll destroy me. Telling you even this has risked much.” 

Lucius sighed in frustration. “Fine,” he said with gritted teeth. “I guess we’re done then.” He reached out and wiped his thumb down her arm, leaving a new crimson mark. 

The dryad turned to white marble once more aside from the new blood smear. _“Lord and Master, I rest,”_ she intoned without her mouth moving, her voice deep and almost mechanical. 

“Bloody useless lawn ornaments,” Lucius growled. He put the side of his thumb into his mouth to staunch the minor wound as he handed Robena back her pin. Robena took it, feeling somewhat dizzy, a mix of standing in such a potently magic place and witnessing a child in her care display a _sang froid_ that would not have been out of place in a Spanish Inquisitor.

Lucius took his thumb out of his mouth, his smile now contrite. “I’m most sorry about that. Usually I can get more out of her.” His smile faded as he noticed the expression on Robena’s face. “Are you ill, Miss March?” he said, his voice full of concern. 

Robena swallowed, her mouth dry. “A headache, suddenly. Nothing to fret about,” she quickly lied. 

“Take my arm, then. We’ll return at once.” Lucius offered his arm to her gallantly. In a daze, Robena took it. Nothing about what had just occurred left her feeling anything but deeply disturbed. She reviewed the experience in her mind, while the taste of pennies filled her mouth from the adrenaline coursing through her. The Malfoys had a collection of captive magical—no, not just magical, but those out of legend, some considered immortal--creatures that only they could control, many of which were deadly. Abraxas had taken one for some clandestine purpose. The figure, a siren, would return _more silent than before_. Why would Abraxas wake a siren, a creature with a notoriously dangerous voice, only to silence her? And how? 

But all this paled in comparison to what Robena had witnessed in Lucius. The whole business reeked of Dark Arts and yet Lucius’ reaction to it was that such a thing was commonplace, mundane even. That they could kill her if Robena touched them didn’t seem to affect Lucius in the slightest, aside from his keeping her from doing so. _Lawn ornaments,_ he had called them, which made Robena wonder what other Dark Arts practices had been normalized in young Lucius’ life. 

Moreover, Lucius’ behavior towards the dryad had made Percival Selwyn’s Fanged Frisbees seem like child’s play. _They_ were _child’s play, half-wit,_ she rebuked herself, _this is something else entirely, something far more sinister._ Robena had watched as Lucius callously and unhesitatingly leveraged his dominance over a creature in his family’s power. He hadn’t asked the dryad kindly, but had ordered her, and then threatened her with worse for non-compliance. And the entire thing had been as casual to him as the walk through the meadow had been. 

Robena looked at Lucius out of the corner of her eye as they made their way back to the Manor. He looked around at the falling snow, seemingly in a fair mood, giving Robena occasional, worried glances. After a time, Robena broke the silence. “Did your father teach you how to do that with the dryad?” 

Lucius looked proud of himself. “No, I figured it out all on my own.” His smile slid quickly off of his face though and he added, “But I’m really not supposed to mess about with the Fell Circle, so please don’t tell my father what I did.”

Robena stopped. “So you lied to me. You’re _not_ allowed in there.” She sighed, looking around at the bare trees, their branches like a black cage in the darkening sky. Robena then looked back at Lucius. “If you knowingly broke one of your father’s rules, I can hardly keep it from him, Lucius.”

To Robena’s surprise, Lucius smiled, but it was cruel. “Then tell him if you think it’s the right thing to do. But you should know, he’s not going to be happy that you know and there’s no telling what he’ll do.” 

_The manipulative little blackmailer!_ Robena thought. She squared her shoulders and stared Lucius down. “I’ll take my chances,” she said as icily as she could.

“Suit yourself, Miss March.” 

As they passed through the yew hedge of the formal garden and the house loomed before them, for the first time, Robena felt scared of the Malfoys, but not because of Abraxas. It was because of Lucius.

EIGHT: CONFESSION

In the main hall, Lucius left Robena, giving her one last knowing look. Despite Lucius’ warning, Robena had to tell Abraxas, if for no other reason than refusing to cede power to a charge, even one as compelling as Lucius, _especially_ one as compelling as Lucius. If Robena were to do that, any semblance of order and discipline, any respect from Lucius to her would be gone irrevocably. Furthermore, she had to call his bluff, which is what Robena firmly decided this was. She knew him well enough to know that in no reality did Lucius want his crimes known to his father. Nevertheless, Lucius did have a point: the fact that she knew what was no doubt a Malfoy family Dark Arts secret did put Robena in a precarious position.

Robena went to her room first. Luckily, the house elves had built up a roaring fire. Robena removed her wet cloak and boots and placed them next to the blaze to dry before collapsing gratefully into a chair in front of the cozy warmth. Looking into the flames and listening to the crack of the wood grounded her somewhat although Robena noticed that when she put her hands palm-out towards the fire to warm them, she could see a faint resting tremor.

This would never do. Robena knew that she could not go before Abraxas Malfoy shaking like an excited Pygmy Puff. She took a deep breath and then another before staring back at the fire once more. Truthfully, Robena felt exhausted. The Selwyn children had worn her out as well, but again, in the way normal children do, with constant activity, bickering, bids for her attention, and noise, so very much _noise_. But with the exception of her dealings with Francois, Robena did not have to watch her step a tenth as much as she did while dealing with the Malfoys. She started to have an inkling as to why she was the fifth governess in a line.

Robena rolled her shoulders a few times, aware of the tension that she carried there. If only Francois were around to knead out the knots, hold her, or even just talk to her. And listen. Especially in light of this day's events, Robena felt wholly isolated in the imposing, menacing island of Malfoy Manor. Her anxiety and loneliness made her long for the party more than ever. 

At risk of drifting off in her chair, Robena stood, determined to see her employer and confront him about his son’s transgression before she lost her nerve. She knew that Abraxas was home and decided to try his study first. On the way, she rehearsed what she might say, as well as developing a contingency plan in the unlikely event that Lucius beat her there to confess his sins or offer his own version of events. Robena doubted that Lucius had it in him; more likely he was counting on Abraxas' reputation to intimidate her sufficiently to keep her silent about the whole matter.

By then Robena had arrived at the closed door of Abraxas’ study. A golden light showed under the crack in the door, illuminating the white veins in the black marble at Robena’s feet and making her wonder if this was the same marble as that which made up the entrance to the Fell Circle. Robena stared at these bright lines that branched and fractured like lightning as she strained to listen for voices. The silence was so intense it felt like cotton wool pressing on her ears. All she could hear was her own heart beating rapidly. 

“Eavesdropping, are we?” Robena jumped at the sound of Abraxas’ voice directly behind her. She had not heard him approach, so either he was preternaturally stealthy or else he had cast _Quietus_ specifically so he could sneak up on her. Either way, it was ill done and Robena had to stop herself from exclaiming something regrettable, like an expletive. 

She took a deep breath, regaining her composure. “Not at all, sir,” she responded with equanimity, “I simply wished to ensure that I was not disturbing you.” 

“I see,” Abraxas said, a cunning light in his piercing blue eyes. “As it happens, Miss March, your timing is superb. I’ve been meaning to summon you.” He opened the door and pushed it open. “After you.”

Robena moved past him into the study. She stood and waited in front of the desk, much as she had the previous time. Abraxas took his place behind the desk, sat down, folded his hands in front of him and only then did he look back up at her. “Sit down, Miss March."

Robena sat in one of the chairs as she had before, her back straight and her own hands folded on her lap. Even though she had been the one to seek him out, Robena waited for Abraxas to begin. 

“As Lucius may have told you, I am hosting a gathering Saturday next. Thus, I need to discuss my expectations for you regarding that evening.” Abraxas stood up and moved to the window, his hands clasped behind his back now. “I have invited many prominent wizarding families, certain members with which you may have a certain degree of familiarity.” He turned to her now and fixed her with a penetrating stare. “Despite any feelings of affection or regard you may have for any of them, I must ask you not to distress them unnecessarily with inappropriate attention.”

Robena froze, feeling as if her viscera were turning over in her abdomen. His request meant one thing and one thing only: Abraxas either knew about her and Francois or had a strong suspicion. Given his belief, Abraxas was thus warning Robena to stay away from Francois the night of the party. Robena managed to force her face into a look of perplexity. “What if the children see me and wish to greet me?” she asked, opting to take his statement at face value. “surely you would not deny them that.”

Abraxas raised an eyebrow. “Actually, I believe it would be best if you were to make yourself scarce for the evening. Lucius will hardly need supervision. He’ll socialize with his fellow children and shall want for naught, I can assure you.” Abraxas sat back down. “Consider yourself released from your duties for the night.” 

“Shall I keep to my room?” Robena asked, unable to keep the sarcasm out of her voice.

Abraxas rewarded her with a reproachful look. “Only if you wish, Miss March. You’re not a prisoner here. Nonetheless, I would ask that you use prudence and refrain from the more populated areas of my house during the party.” 

“Very well then, sir, on the evening of the party I’ll be sure not to put out…” she said, gratified to see Abraxas shoot her a look of incredulity, “…any attitude or behavior that might reflect poorly on the household. " _Two can play this game_ Robena thought, _I now know that you know and I don’t care._ Toying with Abraxas Malfoy was likely ill-advised but Robena would be damned if she let him dictate how she conducted her personal life. Seeking Francois out would be far more difficult now; she would have to be crafty, but despite Abraxas' suspicions, she simply could not afford to let her one and only opportunity to talk to Francois pass her by.

“Now,” Abraxas said, “Of what matter did you wish to speak to me?”

Robena swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. She stared at her hands as the silence stretched.

“Well?” 

Robena started at Abraxas’ impatient snap, annoyed once more that he could get to her so easily. “Lucius took me on a turn about the grounds today,” she started.

“What of it? Lucius is no more a prisoner than you are.” Abraxas sounded unconcerned.

Robena looked up at him. He had taken out a knife with an obsidian handle and was sharpening a mottled quill, likely from an owl, crafting it into a writing implement by carefully working the shaft down to the membrane. “He took me inside of the Fell Circle."

Abraxas froze, the knife in one hand and the quill in the other. “Come again?” he said quietly.

Robena took a breath, her heart hammering. “Sir, Lucius assured me that he was allowed there. In fact, I specifically asked him and he said he had your permission.”

“So he lied.”

“It would seem so, yes. But sir, there’s more.”

Abraxas now gripped the knife and let the feather fall. “More, Miss March?” he asked, his lips a tight line.

Robena found that she couldn’t help but stare at the knife. The blade caught the light from the candles on its finely-honed edge, throwing narrow beams onto the polished mahogany desk as bright, _V_ -shaped reflections. Robena continued, willing her voice not to shake. “Well, Lucius noticed that the siren was missing from the circle and wanted to know why. So he woke up the dryad and asked her.” 

“Indeed? And what, pray tell, did the dryad have to say?” Abraxas had lowered his voice almost to a whisper and was now turning the knife slowly over in his hands. 

Robena licked her lips. “Very little, sir. She said she was sworn to secrecy. So Lucius pricked his finger and put her back to sleep.” Robena prayed that Abraxas would not ask for anything more than that. 

Abraxas set the knife down and came around the desk. He stood over Robena and drew his wand. “Stand up, if you please, Miss March,” Abraxas said. Robena obeyed, her heart speeding up and her eyes now fixed on Abraxas’ drawn wand. In that moment, Lucius’ warning coming back to her, _he’s not going to be happy that you know and there’s no telling what he’ll do_. Without breaking eye contact, Abraxas performed an incant-less wand sequence in the air. With a crack, a house elf materialized a few feet from them. 

Only then did Abraxas turn his attention away from Robena. “Fetch my son and bring him here at once,” he ordered. 

The house elf bowed low, snapped its fingers and Disapparated. 

Abraxas turned to Robena once again. “I’ll need to enlist your help, Miss March. I’m going to confront Lucius about this whole business and I need to know if he’s lying to me as well, so when he arrives, follow my lead.” 

After a moment's hesitation, Robena nodded. "Very well."

NINE: DISCIPLINE

Upon returning from the forest, Lucius went to his room, removed his wet things, and ate his dinner hastily, even though he found that he had little appetite. In his mind, he went back and forth as to whether to head Robena off at the pass and seek his father out first. But what could he possibly say? That whatever Robena said to father was a lie? Lucius had to admit that it was flimsy: why would his governess lie about something like that? In considering this, Lucius slowly started to come to terms with the idea that taking Miss March to the Fell Circle wasn’t something he had completely thought through.

His supper finished, Lucius flopped onto his bed on his back, his eyes drifting up to the molded plaster ceiling. A crack ran from the center to the edge, bisecting two different flaring shapes. When Lucius was small, he used to think that rats would come out of the crack at night and bite him. It was an unpleasant thought, even now, and Lucius half-heartedly considered summoning a house elf to fix the crack right then. 

Ultimately, he discarded the idea. He had bigger problems at this moment. Lucius closed his eyes and rubbed them with one hand. Why, oh why, had he brought Robena to The Fell Circle? The question plagued him and he didn’t have a ready answer. Strangely perhaps, when Robena had asked Lucius if he was allowed in the Fell Circle, he didn’t precisely lie; it was almost as if he had simply forgotten that he wasn’t.

Truth be told, Lucius had made countless trips to the Fell Circle, particularly in the time between Georgina and Robena. The reality of that time was that Lucius had felt so profoundly lonely that anyone’s company was preferable to his own, and especially to the inaccessibility and censure of his father’s. Lucius had his favorites among the Fell Circle, in particular the satyr, who would tell Lucius such stories about the Realm of Morgaine, where he was from. The satyr also played the flute, lovely, haunting melodies also not of the Realm of Merlin, tunes very few human ears had ever heard, in all likelihood. 

In contrast, Lucius and the dryad had never gotten along; she had two moods: either she was sad and dull, or else she burned with resentment at her imprisonment. Either way, she hated all the Malfoys, so Lucius would only wake her when he felt a need to control something, anything, in a life over which he had none. He always felt a twinge of remorse when he did it, but making her dance for him or sing in her wistful voice was strangely cathartic. There were certain creatures that Lucius never woke, such as the manticore or the siren; while he might be able to control them with his pure Malfoy blood, he also wasn’t stupid. He might wake them one day, but he knew that it would have to be for an immensely compelling reason.

Lucius hadn’t shown any of his other governesses the Fell Circle. To be fair, he had only just discovered and mastered waking the creatures therein and putting them back to sleep. Lucius wondered what he had hoped to achieve with Robena. Deep down, he knew Fell Circle and his control over it was something profoundly personal to him and to his family, and yet something that he had very much wanted to share with Robena. 

Lucius flipped over on his side now, his head cradled by one arm. The truth of the matter was that he liked Robena. He liked her so much that it scared him, because who was to say that she would not leave or be discharged, breaking his heart like Georgina had done and leaving him alone? And now Robena was going to tell Father what he had done. Lucius wanted to resent this, but at the end of the day, Miss Robena March wasn’t his friend, she was his governess. Of course she had a responsibility to tell father, and she had been completely above board about this to Lucius, a mark of respect, to be sure. Lucius also knew that his warning wouldn’t be enough. Robena would go despite it. Although he had cravenly tried to get her not to tell so as to avoid trouble himself, he had meant in all sincerity that his father might react badly, no, _dangerously_ when he found out. 

Lucius rose from his bed, his mind made up. At the very least he had to know if Robena was going to follow through and if so, try and help her in some way. He slipped on a pair of shoes and made his way to his father’s study, ducking behind a pillar just in time to see his father holding the door open for Miss March and then closing it behind the two of them. Once the door was closed, Lucius crept closer, poised to flee should the door re-open suddenly. 

Vexingly, Lucius could only hear that Miss March and Abraxas were talking, not what they were saying. He could see the light coming from under the door shifting as someone moved around the room. Lucius was getting nowhere and his standing in such close proximity was doing little besides increasing his risk of getting caught. He sighed quietly and went back to his pillar, nursing the hope that maybe one of them would say something perhaps when the door opened back up.

He had just settled back down behind the pillar to wait when the snap of an Apparating House Elf made him jump nearly out of his skin. “Master Lucius, Master Abraxas wishes to see you presently,” the elf said, bowing. 

Lucius swallowed. “All right, go away,” he said, masking his fear with irritability. The elf departed, never turning his back on Lucius. Lucius squared his shoulders. _May as well get this over with_ he thought. Crossing the few yards between the pillar and the door seemed interminable and Lucius found his steps becoming shorter and shorter as he approached. It took him three tries to knock on the door.

“Come.” Somehow Lucius’ father’s voice managed to fill the one syllable with foreboding. Lucius opened the door and walked in but froze upon beholding his father standing over Robena, his wand drawn and pointed at her exposed throat. Her chest rose and fell rapidly and her eyes were wide. They only flicked to Lucius for a moment before fixing on Abraxas' face once again. 

Despite the palpable tension in the room coupled with father’s lowered brows and tightened jaw, when he spoke, his voice was calm. “Lucius, we seem to have a problem.”

“What—“ Lucius’ voice came out as a harsh whisper. He paused for just a moment and then tried again, attempting to match his father’s composure. “If you please, father…what problem do you mean?”

Father still had not looked at Lucius; his eyes were still locked on Robena. “Miss March here states that you showed her the Fell Circle today and that you performed an unauthorized awakening on one of my creatures right in front of her.”

Lucius said nothing. One thing that his father had taught him was that if one remained silent, the other person would often continue to yield up more information without prompting. Father was no different in this regard, although now he turned his stony glare on Lucius. “You see, Lucius, that presents me with a dilemma of the binary sort.”

Lucius’ heart sped up. “Meaning?”

“Well, the first possibility is that Miss March is lying, which is what I sincerely wish to believe. I mean, what son of mine would underhandedly learn and then reveal ancient Malfoy secrets, secrets not meant for underage Malfoys, and certainly not for outsiders? If this is the case I shall regrettably have to release her forthwith from service for her lack of integrity. Surely you must agree that we can’t have such a blackguard governing you, can we?”

“No,” Lucius answered in a hushed voice.

“Speak up, if you please.”

“No,” Lucius repeated, “We can’t, father.”

“This leads me to the other option: that every word out of Miss March’s mouth has been nothing less than the unvarnished truth. If this is the case, she may stay on, but you shall be soundly punished.” Father’s voice snapped with fury and Lucius flinched. 

Lucius stood rooted where he stood, eyes now prickling. “She’s—“ he started. His urge for self-preservation nearly overwhelmed him, but in the end, Lucius found he couldn’t betray Robena. “She’s telling the truth,” he finished. “I did show her the Fell Circle and I did awaken the dryad.” Each word felt like a coffin nail being hammered home. 

For a moment, silence reigned and no one moved. Robena spoke first. “May I go now, sir?” she asked. Abraxas stood just inches from her, his wand clasped in his hand, its point never wavering. 

“Not just yet,” Abraxas said softly. “I shall of course have to Obliviate you first.”

“What?! No, absolutely not,” Robena said angrily, stepping back.

Lucius felt a sinking sensation in his core; his father hated disobedience most of all, whether from his son, his house elves, or his employees, especially when he was showing them what he would consider clemency. Abraxas’ reaction was instantaneous; he struck like a snake, grabbing Robena’s right arm and keeping her from escaping. “I’m afraid it wasn’t a choice, Miss March,” he said coldly. “Unless you’d prefer the option of returning to the Fell Circle as a Malfoy enemy. Now that you’ve seen it and what dwells therein, you wouldn’t want that, would you?” He looked at Lucius now, even as he continued to address Robena, “Besides, my son seems to have taken a liking to you. Believe you me, there is little that Lucius fancies more than saving his own hide. You should consider yourself fortunate indeed that he sacrificed himself on your behalf.” 

Abraxas must have punctuated his words by gripping Robena harder because her shoulders tensed and she grimaced in pain. Nonetheless, her eyes remained defiant. Lucius silently willed her to be still and silent, even as she struggled. He knew from experience that the severity of the sanction from his father rose concurrently with resistance. Despite the situation’s rapid escalation, Lucius forced himself to focus and when he did, he could see what Robena was trying to do. Her wand protruded from her skirt pocket, mere centimeters below her groping fingertips. 

On a desperate impulse, Lucius dove for it, pushing it up just enough for Robena to grab it. The instant it was in her hand, she cried out, _”Expelliarmus!_ Abraxas’ wand flew out of his hand and landed with a clatter on the floor behind them. 

“Run!” Lucius shouted.

Robena took advantage of Abraxas’ momentary distraction to wrench herself free. She then bolted from the room, slamming the door behind her hard enough to knock the bust of Theseus Malfoy down from its plinth, where it shattered on the floor. By this time, Abraxas had his wand back, but he quickly sheathed it. He crossed the room in two steps and backhanded Lucius hard enough to knock him to the floor, where the side of his head hit a jagged piece of Theseus’ broken occiput. 

Lucius saw colored snow descend across his vision and felt warmth trickling down his chin from where his father had split his lip. “Get up, traitor,” father said, his voice seeming to both echo and come from afar. Lucius slowly rolled to his side, before standing up. As he did, he now felt blood dripping behind his ear and down the side of his jaw as well. He reached a hand up to the side of his head and it came away stained with crimson. “Stop that. You’re fine,” came the terse response. “You know what to do next.”

Lucius did know, although it made his insides quake. With shaking fingers, he unbuttoned his shirt and shrugged out of it. He looked at his father, who put his index finger up in the air and twirled it slowly. Lucius turned around and put his hands on the now-empty stone column from which Theseus Malfoy had slipped. He heard the unmistakable sound of his father’s belt unbuckling and then clearing its loops.

“You know why I’m doing this.” It was a statement, not a question. “You didn’t just tell Malfoy secrets to an outsider, you revealed them to a Mudblood. Granted, she displayed a surprising amount of honor in coming to me and telling me the truth. She also shows an unexpected degree of spirit from time to time. Unfortunately, I can’t ignore the fact that you betrayed me yet again in ensuring she found her wand to disarm me. How many times have I told you never to let them forget their place? And how many times have I warned you never to give them the advantage? Her base parentage merely underscores the gravity of your crime, Lucius. Put simply, your blatant breach of faith is something I find unforgivable.” 

And then the pain started. It wasn’t so much that Abraxas was strong and powerful and didn’t hold back. It wasn’t that Lucius couldn’t help but cry, displaying the unmanly emotion that his father found so abhorrent. It wasn’t even that father took out his wand out to cast the healing spell _Dermium immendo_ only to start over again, but not use it again when he was finished, letting Lucius continue to bleed. The worst part came at the very end, when father finally relented, and said what he always said, his voice sad and almost tender, “I do this out of love, Lucius. Now you’re stronger, more prepared for what the world is going to throw at you, and most importantly, endowed with a bit more of the fortitude required to carry the Malfoy dynasty. Be grateful.” 

TEN: ENTREATY

Robena didn’t stop running until she got to her room, where she closed the door and leaned against it, her breathing harsh and rapid as she caught it. She had her wand clenched in her hand still. When her heart had finally stopped racing, she turned around and warded the door, even while reflecting that it was probably foolish. Likely as not, no ward of hers could withstand the might of the Malfoys within their own fortress. 

Door warded, Robena threw her wand down on her bed and ran her shaking hands through her hair. Abraxas had no right to do what he did. Although she trusted him as far as she could throw a Drooble’s wrapper, she had tentatively agreed to go along with whatever he had in mind this evening, as they seemed to have the mutual purpose of safeguarding Lucius’ best interests. However, Robena had never agreed to have her memory wiped, nor to be threatened with death should she refuse. Lucius might bluff, but Robena was fairly certain that Abraxas did not. 

Robena crossed to her closet, her mind made up. She would leave tonight. To Hades with Abraxas Malfoy, his malice, his viciousness, and his bullying. Robena found her suitcase, opened it on her bed, picked her wand from where she had tossed it, and cast the quick-packing charm. With no small amount of relief, she watched her clothes fold themselves into the confines of the suitcase. It would soon all be over. She had a few other items scattered about the room, three or four books of her own, some quills, and some other sundries. It took her a few moments of poking under the bed and in the upper shelves of the closet to find everything. 

In searching through her scrolls to roll them into one tidy bundle, one fell out. Curious, Robena picked it up and unrolled it. _The Habits and Habitats of the Owls of Great Britain_ the title proclaimed, identifying it as the first assignment she had given to Lucius. _There are five main breeds of owls native to Great Britain…_ Lucius had poured his heart and soul into this assignment and had even given her seven feet instead of six ( _one foot for each owl, plus one foot for an introduction, and finally one foot for a conclusion,_ he had said). The words on the page blurred in front of Robena's eyes and a tear splashed onto Lucius’ neat and careful words, smearing them. Robena couldn’t leave Lucius, and yet she had to, a terrible paradox.

Just then, Robena heard a gentle knock at her door. “I’m indisposed,” she called crossly. 

“It’s Lucius, Miss March. Can you please let me in?”

Robena angrily dashed her tears away with the back of her hand. She crossed the room, dropped the ward, and whipped the door open, a sharp comment ready, but Lucius’ appearance brought her up short. The right side of his head was splashed with blood, in parts matted into his fair hair. His lower lip still oozed blood as well where it had split. Lucius moved over the threshold slowly and as he passed by, Robena gasped at the thin lines of red pressing through the back of his white shirt. 

Lucius’ smile was haunted and ironic, more so than any barely-eleven-year-old’s had any right to be. “I _know,_ ” he said, raising his eyebrows. “He usually heals me after. Can’t think of why he didn’t this time.”

 _Because he wanted me to see,_ Robena thought numbly. Abraxas knew that Lucius would come to her first thing, and although Robena had escaped, Abraxas wanted to make it crystal clear that Lucius could never have that freedom. While he might have the capability and even the permission to depart Malfoy property, ultimately ancient Malfoy blood chained him in place, no less than the creatures of the Fell Circle. 

Lucius then noticed her packed suitcase. The smile slid from his face. “You’re not leaving, surely,” he said, his voice hollow. 

Robena sighed. “I’m afraid I must." 

“Don’t.” Lucius injected the single word with agony so deep and heartfelt that it took Robena’s breath away. 

She softened slightly. “I’ll not stay in a house where my life is under threat.”

To Robena’s shock, Lucius brightened. “Is that all? Don’t fret, Miss March. Father likes you.”

Robena closed her eyes and massaged them with the fingers of her right hand. She could feel a headache developing, a real one this time. “Please stop, Lucius. Haven’t you lied enough today?”

“I’m telling the truth, Miss March. He told me a great deal as we…spoke after you left.”

Robena moved her hand enough to look at Lucius out of one eye, through her fingers. “Indeed?” she asked wearily. She found that she cared little at this point what Abraxas Malfoy thought of her, other than not wanting to kill her or Obliviate her. She was also absolutely positive that Lucius was deliberately omitting significant portions of the conversation. 

“I swear on the Malfoy name,” Lucius' voice grave. “Father said that you showed spirit in disarming him and integrity in coming to him and telling him the truth.” Lucius smiled at her, before wincing as a new trickle of blood ran from his split lip. “If he hated you, he wouldn’t have said those things. He's not going to kill you either. At least, not today.”

Robena dropped her hand and opened it towards Lucius. “Nevertheless, if I stay, what’s to stop him from Obliviating me, even if, as you say, he won’t kill me?”

Once again, Lucius’ smile slipped. “I don’t know,” he said. Without asking, he sat on the edge of Robena’s bed and put his head in his hands, his hair falling over his tensed fingers. “All I know is that I don’t want you to leave.” 

It was the most vulnerable and human that Robena had ever seen Lucius and she realized that underneath all of his cleverness, cunning, arrogance, and bravado, he was no more than a frightened child. _A child who needs me,_ she thought. Robena sat next to Lucius on the bed. Neither of them spoke for a moment. Finally, Robena broke the silence. “Shall I heal you at least, Lucius?” 

Lucius dropped his hands and looked at her. “Whatever for? If Father wanted me to be healed, he would have done so himself.” He tilted his head to the side ruefully. “He is more than capable, after all.”

Robena felt her jaw clench. “Lucius—“ she began sharply. She paused and shook her head. “I’m not overly concerned about what your father wants this evening.” 

“Yes, but think what he might to do to _me_ if he sees that I’m healed.” Lucius looked towards the now-cold fireplace. “No, Miss March. This one was meant to stick.” 

“Then I’ll go talk to him right now.” Robena stood suddenly. 

Lucius stood too and took her right arm, exactly how his father had, stopping her. Robena gasped and Lucius dropped her like a hot salamander, a brief look of horror crossing his face in realizing what he had done. Despite this, he placed himself between her and the door. “Please don’t do that, Miss March. By now you’ve seen what happens when father hears news that displeases him, in spite of my warning, I must add.”

“Oh, must you? Must you _add_ that, Lucius?” Robena didn’t bother lowering her voice. “You practically _dared_ me to tell him. What in the name of Merlin were you thinking?” 

Lucius glared at her. “What do you care? You’re leaving, aren’t you?” He looked down at the carpet and kicked it with the toe of his shoe. “Just like Georgina. Just like all the others.” 

Robena once again stopped herself from making a cutting remark; Lucius had sustained enough damage already and for once it didn’t seem as if he was trying to manipulate her. Instead Robena tilted her head to the side, considering Lucius. “Can you tell me about Georgina, Lucius?” She kept her voice calm and controlled as she sat back down on the bed.

“No, I’d really rather not,” Lucius said stiffly.

“Well then, can you at least tell me why she left?”

“We talked about that in your first week, Miss March. She just left, took another engagement, per my father.”

Robena leaned forward, put her elbows on her knees and looked into Lucius’ eyes. It wasn’t so much that he was lying, but he knew something that he was not sharing, whether out of fear of his father, distrust of Robena, or both. Also, once again, his story did not exactly match what Abraxas had said on the matter. “What happened?” she asked deliberately.

Lucius looked away. 

“Please tell me, Lucius.” 

Lucius continued to push at the carpet with his foot. The only sound in the room was a faint creaking of the window in the wind. Finally, Lucius spoke. “It’s late, Miss March. Just—“ He looked over at her packed suitcase. “Just sleep on it. Please.” 

Robena sighed and stood up. “Very well, Lucius. But if your father comes in here tonight and kills me where I sleep, I’m going to come back as a banshee and haunt you.” 

Lucius half smiled, carefully to avoid opening his lip once more. He walked over to the door and, placing his hand on the doorknob, turned back to her, bowing his head slightly. “Good night, Miss March.” 

“Good night.” She watched Lucius open the door. “And Lucius?” he turned. “At least clean yourself up.”

Lucius tilted his head down once more. “ _Comme vous voulez,”_ he answered her before exiting and shutting the door quietly. 

Robena looked at the door for a moment, before putting her head into her hands and rubbing her temples, trying to assuage the mounting tension there. But what a mess she had gotten herself into. _No,_ she reflected. _I haven’t done it; the damned Malfoys have done it._ She could be introspective in times where she had erred, but this time she had truly tried to pursue the most correct course of action, and felt with absolute conviction that Abraxas had punished her for doing the right thing.

Perhaps that was the problem. The Malfoy reputation was one of duplicity and underhanded dealings; perhaps being above-board was her first mistake. Still, before taking employ with any of pureblood families, Robena had vowed to set the best possible example as a Muggle-born could in terms of decorum, intellect, integrity, and magical ability. Many had warned her that the slightest misstep with the Sacred 28 who kept to the old ways would simply cement deeply-held prejudices against Muggle-borns and nothing could ever change. Perhaps it had been naïve, but to Robena, the fact that both the Selwyns and the Malfoys had decided to hire her convinced her, at least on some level, that perhaps the scales of time were finally starting to tip. Now she wasn’t so sure. 

Robena got up and rummaged in her packed suitcase until she found a nightgown. Before she changed, she took the chair from her desk and wedged it firmly under the door handle. Robena knew that a witch or wizard with any sort of ability could Apparate, but also that Apparating took a tremendous amount of magical energy, so a practical witch or wizard would at least try the door first, and with any luck, it would wake her in the process. 

_Speaking of magical expenditure…_ Robena thought, as an idea occurred to her. She reflected back to something Lucius had said early on, that all of her governesses had stayed in the very room she was in. If she could track mice and owls, perhaps she could track humans too. Finding any useful data in this manner might be a long shot, but she had to try. She grabbed her wand once more and focused all of her power on the carpet and floorboards underneath her own feet. Pointing her wand down, Robena spoke the incant, “ _Tractus Revelio.”_

Immediately, footprints materialized in glowing blue, hers, Lucius’ and the house elves,’ over and over again. Robena tried to rein in her focus, even over the protest of pain in her head. All that showed up were footprints between the bureau, the window, the door, the closet and the bed, so many it was difficult to tell them apart. Robena sighed in frustration. She measured every inch of the floor with her own feet, looking for some sort of clue, any clue, about her mysterious predecessor. 

Even as she was about to give up, Robena noticed two sets of footprints that were neither hers, nor Lucius,’ nor the house elves, going around to the other side of the bed. The smaller set was bare, far apart. Whoever these belonged to had been in a hurry and without shoes or socks. The larger set that followed were closer together and shod. Robena followed them to the other side of the bed, where they both stopped in a rather peculiar configuration. Robena’s hand flew to her mouth and the spell broke as her concentration did. “Sweet Merlin,” she breathed. She knew exactly what had happened.


	4. Ch. 11: The Atelier; Ch. 12: The Armory; Ch. 13: The Mars Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the Malfoys' soiree looming, Druella takes the girls to be fitted for new gowns, where they run into their cousins. Narcissa takes the opportunity of an excursion into Diagon Alley to daydream about a future with Lucius. For the first time since the Fell Circle, Robena has to face Abraxas, only to have him test her mettle once more. Unaware, Lucius advocates on Robena's behalf for Abraxas to let her come to the party. Abraxas spends time with Lucius by taking him hunting on the Malfoy parkland, teaching him several valuable lessons along the way.
> 
> _Abraxas’ eyes met hers. “Now, I know what you must be wondering: was that some sort of dastardly Dark Arts spell that I cast just now, so casually and right in front of you?”_
> 
> _Robena nodded although she knew the question was rhetorical._
> 
> _“You can be assured of it. After our last unfortunate encounter and the mercy I have thus far shown you in not…terminating you or Obliviating you, I’m afraid that I shall need to test your loyalty right here and now, should you wish to continue in my employ."_

ELEVEN: THE ATELIER

“Narcissa, you mustn't dawdle so, dear.” Her mother’s voice broke the youngest of the Black sisters out of her reverie. Not for the first time, she noticed that the rest of her family had traveled some distance down the uneven cobblestones of Knockturn Alley away from her. Narcissa frowned, perplexed. How had that happened? They had exited Burgin & Borke’s not 30 seconds prior. Or had they? 

Something had distracted Narcissa, something lurid and compelling through the window of Elmwood Ink, the tattoo parlor. A young woman, naked from the waist up stood with her back to the window. This occurrence was unusual as typically a stained piece of grayish oilcloth hung between the display window and the shop proper, no doubt to prevent prying eyes from seeing, well, exactly what Narcissa had seen. 

This time, however, Narcissa watched in fascination as Darrin Elmwood, the left-handed curmudgeon who ran the place flipped his wand negligently at the young lady’s back. As he did, different versions of a snake and skull appeared there, in light blue line work sketches. The young lady turned her head, made eye contact for with Narcissa for a second and then tilted her head down towards Mr. Elmwood to say a few words. He looked at the window, glared, and angrily whipped the oilcloth back into place so that all Narcissa could see were the sketch displays that always hung there, roses, words, skulls, and the like. 

Narcissa turned away from the window, a faint blush warming her cheeks. She put her head down and scurried after her family, who had walked almost to the mouth of where Knockturn Alley made a _T_ with Diagon Alley. “My goodness, Narcissa, your head is certainly in the clouds today,” her mother said, not unkindly.

“Sorry, mother.”

“And I do wish you would stand up straight,” Druella fussed. Narcissa pulled her shoulders back and her mother smiled at her. “Much better.”

Narcissa returned her mother’s smile, mostly so Druella would leave her to let her mind wander as they turned into Diagon Alley. Narcissa did love to come to Diagon Alley simply because there was so much to see and get lost in. Ahead of them, Andromeda and Bellatrix strolled, chatting animatedly and pointing things out in shop windows, here a color-changing chinchilla, there a new-model broom. 

As promised, the sisters Black had kept their bickering to a minimum for the last few weeks, at least around their parents. Of course Bellatrix and Andromeda still sniped at each other and at Narcissa in whispers behind their parents’ backs, but the excitement of the ball kept it from being as malicious as it could be. For Narcissa, it was a welcome change, even though she knew it could not last. 

The day was cold but sunny. Narcissa stopped outside of Madame Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions to admire a smart, indigo velveteen travel robe with capelet and matching hat, trimmed with gold embroidery scrolls and stars. Narcissa knew that they would not stop there today. It wasn’t that the Black family never shopped there, but today they would forego Madame Malkin’s to patronize the more upscale Twilfitt & Tatting’s, as this was a formal and important occasion, as any soiree at the Malfoys’ must be merely by default.

Narcissa fingered the hem of the capelet. It was cleverly cut and would look well on her indeed when she was bigger. _When I’m bigger,_ she thought, _and married to Lucius Malfoy._ The thought put a secret, small smile on Narcissa’s face. Lucius was almost two years older than her and seemed so mature, clever, smooth, and so very, _very_ handsome. 

In fact, Narcissa could not believe her incredible good luck in the conversation the other day. Not only would she marry Lucius Malfoy, but neither of her sisters relished the prospect in the slightest. Bellatrix’ feelings on the matter surprised no one; she and Lucius had hated each other since the day they met as toddlers and Bellatrix pulled his hair and Lucius pushed her in the face and Bellatrix fell on the marble tiles and started crying and…and…and… Narcissa hadn’t witnessed it herself, but had heard about it many times, both the version in which Bellatrix was the helpless victim and the version in which both of them were to blame. 

However, in reflecting on Andromeda’s indifference to Lucius, Narcissa really felt like she had dodged a curse. Everyone said that Andromeda was the prettiest, the cleverest, and the most charming. In fact, the most poorly-kept secret in the Black family was that Andromeda was the favorite. It was true that their parents loved Bellatrix for her cunning, passion, and the wild abandon with which she devoured life and Narcissa for her compliance, easy-going nature, and imagination. But of all of them, the unspoken expectation was that Andromeda would make the most advantageous match, and an alliance with the Malfoys was certainly that.

 _And to think that it was going to be mine instead._ Narcissa felt her smile widen as she admired the blue cloak. She had pictured her and Lucius’ wedding many times since the conversation. She would wear a white gown with a train at least ten meters long, every inch embroidered with seed pearls and enchanted to glow, even in dim light. Theirs would be an evening wedding to show off such a gown to its greatest advantage. Narcissa would have a veil to match, so sheer it could be passed through the eye of a needle and a bouquet of white daffodils of course. Lucius would wear black, to complement and contrast what Narcissa wore and because he looked great in—

“NARCISSA LYSANDRA BLACK!!!” 

Narcissa jumped as if she had been poked by a needle, the eye through which her fictitious bridal veil could pass, perhaps. “Coming, mother,” she called sheepishly as she once again rushed down the cobblestones, this time of Diagon Alley. 

By now, Druella’s patience was wearing thin. She took Narcissa’s wrist and dragged her bodily along to the entrance of Twilfitt & Tatting’s, where Bellatrix and Andromeda already waited. She dropped her arm and glared at her. “Stop dawdling,” she hissed, “and for Merlin’s sake—“

“Stand up straight!” Bellatix and Andromeda could not help but shriek before almost collapsing with the giggles. 

Narcissa drew herself up one last time and entered the store first, her head held high in an attempt to maintain her last few shreds of poise. Mercifully, behind her, Narcissa heard her mother shush Bellatrix and Narcissa, “…Behaving like low-born hoydens and I’m telling you now, so Merlin help me, I will not be having it.”

“We were only joking, mother.”

By then, all four of them stood in the soaring atrium of Twilfitt and Tatting’s. In response to this last, Druella arched a shapely brow. “Well, that certainly is a relief. For you, that is.”

Andromeda and Bellatrix now exchanged worried glances.

Druella folded her arms. “For one, I can’t imagine the disappointment inherent in coming this close to your dream of obtaining new gowns only to fail at the very threshold of the atelier.” 

To Narcissa’s immense satisfaction, she watched as Bellatrix slowly shook her head, and Andromeda clamped her mouth shut, while her eyes stayed wide. Druella then turned her glance to Narcissa, who did her best to arrange her features into a look of hurt bravery. 

Druella took her by the arm. “Come along, dear.”

The atrium was circular, the floor and the interspersed columns a golden-veined rose marble. Between the columns, on the mauve-velvet draped walls hung gilt-framed full-size portraits of model-witches and wizards, preening to the best advantage of the sumptuous fashions they wore. A small but tasteful fountain burbled peacefully in the center of the room and an enchanted crystal chandelier spun from the ceiling. 

A door fit seamlessly into the wall and out of this, a house elf emerged with a silver tray bearing a champagne flute and three glasses of Butterbeer. He was dressed in a tiny navy velvet suit, which meant that he was there voluntarily. Bowing low, he offered the tray to the family. After each took a glass, the house elf spoke, in a voice deeper and more articulate than any house elf Narcissa had ever heard, “Mrs. Black, Misses Black, Mr. Twilfitt is fitting another patron, so he begs your forbearance just a few moments more. If you need anything while you wait, please do not hesitate to ask.” 

Druella nodded graciously and the house elf departed the way he had come. The girls shared a fainting couch, drinking their beverages and speaking in hushed tones. Druella sat in one of the armchairs, her spine never touching the back, sipping at her champagne. 

As promised, they didn’t have to wait long. After about five minutes, the door opened up once again and the house elf stood at attendance as the patrons exited: a woman and two boys, all very familiar to Narcissa. The woman was Father’s sister Auntie Walberga (who preferred to be called _Jade_ and although no one seemed to know how she had gotten the nickname, also no one could fault her for it), and her sons, Cousins Sirius and Regulus. 

Auntie Jade was of medium height, but a slight woman, wiry and high-energy, constantly moving with jerky, restless movements, like a hummingbird. When Father thought Narcissa and her sisters out of earshot, he had referred to Auntie Jade as being _wound tighter than a goblin-made clock._ Of course, raising two rambunctious boys hadn’t helped.

And now none of the three of them looked happy. Sirius was of an age with Andromeda, handsome in the same way that Andromeda was beautiful, with long-lashed brown eyes under an expressive set of eyebrows and curling dark locks. However, at this point, his fine brows were lowered and his mouth had a decidedly ill-tempered set. Regulus, a boy of six, was crying, his upper lip and chin a mess of various secretions. Auntie Jade merely looked as if she wanted to tear her hair out, smash the boys’ heads together or both.

“Dog!” Andromeda cried out, standing and coming towards Sirius.

“Shrub!” Sirius brightened at seeing his cousin approach. 

Little Regulus stopped crying and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his robe at this turn of events. 

Andromeda put her hands on her hips. “I thought I told you not to call me that.” She scowled at Sirius, but Narcissa could see that there was a glint in her bright eyes and that the corner of one side of her mouth would not stay down.

“Please, cousin. If I’m Dog, you’re Shrub. Forever and always.” 

Andromeda sighed huffily. “Oh, very well,” she conceded. “Are you here shopping for the Malfoys’ ball?”

Sirius rolled his eyes. “What else?”

Behind them, Jade sighed, a sharp exhalation out of her nose. “Really, Sirius!”

Sirius gave her a perfunctory glance and then turned his attention back to Andromeda. “I suppose that’s why you’re here as well.”

Andromeda nodded enthusiastically. “Definitely. New clothes for everyone.” 

Sirius’ bright look faded a little at Andromeda’s obvious excitement. “Well, at least someone is looking forward to a night at _that_ house.”

Andromeda too turned chilly. “Well, if you wish to complain about the Malfoys, Bellatrix is standing right over there. If you decide not to be a beastly wand-in-the-mud, find me at the party, that is if you can _lower_ yourself to come.” With that, Andromeda put her nose in the air and stepped around Sirius, nodding politely to his mother as she passed. “Auntie Jade.” Without another word, she disappeared into the atelier proper.

Narcissa hid a smile. This had always been the way between her sister and Cousin Sirius, quick affection, quick anger, and quick forgiveness. They had a similar temperament, and perhaps that was why they both got along and yet knew precisely how to irritate the other. Narcissa knew that it would all be forgotten by the night of the party. She herself and Sirius were reasonably polite to each other, but had never clicked the way that he and Andromeda had done. Sirius and Bellatrix gave each other wary space; they didn’t hate each other, but also didn’t exactly trust one another. Then again, few people did trust Bellatrix. She was simply too volatile and Sirius was a smart lad.

Druella and Jade greeted each other now with a quick peck on the other's cheek. Auntie Jade made the usual remarks about how lovely the girls were growing and Druella returned similar pleasantries, even with Regulus now tugging on the hem of Jade’s robe and Sirius making irritated noises at the door to the shop. By the necessity of five children in various states of impatience, Druella and Jade kept the conversation reasonably short. 

After everyone said their goodbyes, Narcissa, Bellatrix, and Druella proceeded into the atelier itself. Mr. Twilfitt was a lean man in his fifties, with silver-rimmed spectacles that he would look sternly over, but almost always in concentration rather than annoyance. He had a soft, precise voice, accented slightly with something Eastern European, which softened his consonants and flattened out his vowels. Mr. Twilfitt was also as precise with people as he was with garments, and had never forgotten any of their names. They had never met Mr. Tatting, who traveled extensively, per Mr. Twilfitt for the reason of obtaining the latest wizarding fashions from the world over, and seemed more or less to be a silent partner. 

“Right,” Mr. Twilfitt said, clasping his hands in front of him as the family gathered around him and the house elf discreetly closed the door. “Who would like to be first?”

Over the next forty-five minutes, each of the girls ascended to the small platform in the center of the bright, window-lined workshop to be scrutinized, measured, and draped with yards of muslin. All this happened under the watchful eye and wand of Mr. Twilfitt, and the stated preferences and consultation of Druella. The implied rule of the atelier was that they were the only two people permitted to speak. The girls were little more than living dolls for this process. So it had always been done and so it always _would_ be done until those same living dolls came of age.

Narcissa didn’t generally care. Although she loved beautiful silks and rich velvets as much as any pureblood girl would, she also trusted her mother’s judgment. Druella knew Narcissa’s inclinations and judged correctly more often than not what would look flattering on her. Andromeda looked lovely in everything and also knew better than to complain. However, she was savvy enough to cut pictures out of _Witch Weekly_ and paste them into her very own look-books, which she would leave strategically for Druella to find. 

Bellatrix was the one to abide by the atelier rule only under duress, scowling darkly when Mr. Twilfitt compelled her to put one arm up, put the other arm up, _no, not like that, out to the side, turn around, now drop your arms, hold_ still, _child,_ etcetera. Due to Bellatrix’ day-to-day sartorial choices, Narcissa suspected that Bellatrix didn’t care a whit what she put on her body, and that she detested being controlled above all things. Despite this, Bellatrix was also competitive enough not to want to be the only Black sister without a new gown, particularly as the eldest and as of now, the only one at Hogwarts.

When it was Narcissa’s turn, Mr. Twilfitt flipped his wand at her, making his tape measure and Quick-Quotes Quill do their work, having charmed them to work in concert. After a few moments, he looked at the scroll with the new notations on it, before doing a double take. “Three inches since last year?” He addressed this to Druella.

“That’s correct, Mr. Twilfitt.”

Mr. Twilfitt smiled at Narcissa kindly. “Ah, well, my mother would always say that some girls were made taller to better reach the Celestial beings.” Narcissa returned his smile out of politeness only; discussions about her height mostly made her feel uncomfortable, but then, her rapid growth was what had precipitated this pleasant visit so perhaps it wasn't all bad. Mr. Twilfitt’s smile faded as he folded his arms and considered Narcissa. “I could always enchant a lengthening charm into the hem…” he mused.

“That won’t be necessary,” Druella responded with a wave of her hand. This last was a tacit admission that the Black family could afford to outfit its children in the finest, year after year, as long as the Malfoys kept having gatherings and the Blacks kept attending them. That, or Druella’s declination respected a long-held superstition in most pureblood families that if a garment could be enchanted or charmed, it could also be cursed.

Mr. Twilfitt inclined his head. “As you wish, madame.” He moved around Narcissa once more and for her part, Narcissa didn’t move and for once kept her shoulders back. “Perhaps a cream-colored velvet, princess-seamed, but with a full chiffon skirt. Crystal details at the neck and the waist, perhaps.” 

Druella nodded. “Very well.” 

Mr. Twilfitt motioned for Narcissa to step down, her assistance no longer required. He turned his attention once more to Druella and smiled slyly. “And something for the lady?” 

Druella returned his smile. “I don’t think so.”

All three girls raised their voices at the same time:

”Oh, mother, you _never_ get anything new…”

“Really, mother, can you think of the last time you got a new dress?”

“It’s for the _Malfoys_ , after all…”

Druella held up her hand and they all fell silent. She looked at all three of her daughters’ expectant faces, and then at Mr. Twilfitt. He returned her look with one he no doubt imagined was benevolent neutrality, although the mildly avaricious twinkle in his eye belied it. “Oh, if I _must_ …”

All three girls jumped up and down and squealed. Druella stood and took her place on the pedestal in the center of the room and for the last time, Mr. Twilfitt circled her like a Seeker. His tape measure and Quick Quotes Quill automatically documented the necessities while he mused out loud, fully at the mercy of his own creative process. “Something, I think, that encompasses all of the girls’ gowns, cream silk, black chiffon underskirt, red accents…but with dignity, of course…” 

Fifteen minutes later, everything was settled. Morty the house elf would deliver all four gowns to the house the following day by noon. Narcissa reflected that Mr. Twilfitt was going to have a busy night, between the four gowns for them, plus whatever Auntie Jade’s family had ordered. As they exited Twilfitt & Tatting’s, Narcissa reflected how odd it was that one event could set so much in motion, and it hadn’t even happened yet.

TWELVE: THE ARMORY

_Once again I fly. I spread my wings, beat them hard, but only a few times to gain the height I need to look down at the sea. The water spreads out almost infinitely below me, hit just so with the sun. There is a wreck below, something that I cannot see clearly, but can perceive, a captain and crew that didn’t see what was coming, got in over their heads, paid the price for their hubris, perhaps, or else were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. But there’s nothing I can do about it now, nor can anyone else. This tragedy was set into motion long ago. All I can do is fly, breathe in the salty air, feel the stiff breeze and the warm sun, fly…and fly…and fly…_

Another jangle of the alarm clock roused Robena and she stilled it with her wand. By now, it was a familiar sequence of events, but Robena noticed that her not-unwelcome flying dreams had increased in frequency since joining the Malfoy household. _Perhaps it's my proximity to the ley lines,_ she thought. Robena looked drowsily to the window. Of course it was still dark on the shortest day of the year… _the ball!_ Robena's eyes flew open all the way and she sat up, suddenly alert. She saw to the necessities with efficiency and then summoned Bonnsie the house elf, letting her in when she knocked quietly at Robena’s door.

Robena smiled at her. “Good morning, Bonnsie.”

Bonnsie returned her smile shyly. “Good morning, miss.” Robena stood and started brushing her hair to ready it for Bonnsie’s attention. “Is Miss wanting some fancier hair for the ball?” Bonnsie ventured, looking up at Robena. She had her small, nimble fingers clasped in front of her.

Robena smirked. “Well, because your master has expressly forbidden me from going, the usual is fine…if you don’t mind.”

Bonnsie’s features contracted in perplexity. “Oh—well—Master says—that is…“ She cut off suddenly and looked down at the floor as if ashamed. She seemed to remember herself then and looked back at Robena. “Whatever Miss wishes,” Bonnsie finished, her voice quiet.

Robena sat down sideways in the chair in front of Bonnsie, as was custom, and let the elf put her hair into two French braids that met behind her back. When she was finished, Bonnsie asked, “will there be anything else, miss?”

“No thank you, Bonnsie.” Bonnsie bobbed a curtsy and left, shutting the door behind her. After she had gone, Robena frowned at the closed door, puzzled by the interaction. Dismissing it for the time being as happenstance, she finished getting dressed, broke her fast, and then set out into Malfoy Manor to find Lucius.

Robena came across him in the library, waiting for her. He was bouncing a Boomerang Ball off the shelves, being careful not to knock any books down. He stopped mid-throw when he saw her and nodded. “Miss March,” he greeted her. His face had mostly healed; Robena could still see some jaundiced discoloration to the right side of his jaw, but it was one of those details that one could only see if one knew to look. By that evening, he would be as right as rain.

“Good morning, Lucius,” Robena responded. “What would you like to start with today? Magical history? Mathematics? Elocution? _Francais?_ ”

“Well, whatever it is, it can only last until noon.” Lucius pulled up a chair to the table they usually used as a study desk. 

“Why is that?”

Lucius looked up at her. “My father wants to take me hunting.”

 _Hunting sirens? Or perhaps dryads?_ Robena caught the words before they left her mouth, knowing that they might hit a nerve. Lucius had been acting like his normal self, but Robena wasn’t sure if it was resilience she was seeing, or else Lucius pushing everything down deep inside where it couldn’t hurt him quite so much. It was probably both, as they were not mutually exclusive. Instead, Robena raised her eyebrows. “Well then, we had better make this count.” 

“Oh, and I think father wants to speak to you as well.” Lucius said it casually, but Robena caught a spark of something inscrutable in his gray eyes. Robena and Abraxas had neither spoken nor seen each other since the disastrous night of the Fell Circle. For certain, Robena was trying to evade him, but she also knew that if Abraxas wanted to see her, he could do so with a mere crook of his finger. There was little she could do to prevent it, chairs wedged under doorknobs notwithstanding, particularly if she wished to maintain her current employment. No, more than likely, Abraxas was avoiding her as well. The situation had been reasonably comfortable, especially as the days passed and Obliviation seemed less and less likely, but Robena was not so optimistic as to believe that their mutual avoidance could last much longer.

Robena sat at the table as well and pinned Lucius with a glare. “Is there anything I should know before I speak with him, Lucius? Any infractions you wish to get off your chest?”

Lucius smiled at her. “Not a one, Miss March. As I said, I’m—“

“As good as a Galleon,” Robena sighed. “I remember.”

Lucius nodded graciously. “As you say.”

Robena rolled her eyes. “Do _you_ have any idea what he might want?”

Lucius shrugged, but Robena could see the ghost of a smile attempting to escape. “Perhaps he wants to invite you to the ball.”

“Do you know, that’s the second time today that’s happened?”

“What’s happened?”

Robena leaned across the table and put her chin in her hands. “Bonnsie asked if I wanted my hair done differently because of the ball.”

Lucius scoffed. “And you expect some dumb-arse house elf to have accurate information?”

Robena sat up. “Language, Lucius! Shame on you. I swear to Merlin, one of these days I’m going to wash out your mouth with a cleansing potion…” 

“Sorry, Miss March.” 

He wasn’t. He never was when it came to his profanity. Lucius’ insincere apologies in this regard were little more than his desire to _save his own hide,_ as Abraxas had put it. Robena knew that regardless of how long she spent in the Malfoy household, and what other influence she might have on him, Lucius would likely always curse. She decided to move on. “And yes, I _do_ expect a house elf to have accurate information about those whom she serves.” 

“If you say so. What exactly did she say?”

“What I just told you.”

Lucius looked away but said nothing.

“Lucius…” Robena started warningly, “what do you know?”

Lucius selected a book from the pile. “I know that I would like to start with elocution and move on to history, finishing with French because by then I’ll want to walk around, which we can do while we speak French…”

 _Slippery little devil,_ Robena thought. She sat back and folded her arms in front of her. “Well, I’m not doing any of that until you tell me what you know.”

Lucius smiled. “Then maybe what my father wants to talk to you about is you not wanting to do your job.” 

Robena didn’t move a muscle. She wasn’t going to get sucked into Lucius’ power game, a game he was playing with precocious aplomb. She simply fixed him with a dead-eyed stare. If this didn’t work, she would stop speaking English for the rest of the day. That would soften him up. Luckily, Lucius knew this as well as Robena and finally relented. “Oh, very well.” He set the book down. “I may or may not have told father that I wanted you to be at the ball tonight.” 

“Why—“ Robena squeezed her eyes shut for a moment before opening them again, somewhat baffled by this new information. “Why would you do that?” Coming to the party legitimately would solve a major problem for her, as out of the blue as it seemed. If nothing else, Robena needed Francois’ assistance in the matter of the mysterious footprint pattern, but at the same time, her feelings were mixed as she also wanted to stay out of sight and out of mind where Abraxas was concerned. 

Lucius gave her a shy and almost endearing smile. “As a favor to you, of course, to attend as my personal guest.” Robena still said nothing, but felt her eyebrows knit together. Lucius’ affect then chilled somewhat at Robena’s reaction or perhaps lack thereof. “You’re welcome,” he finished coolly, before opening his book back up to read or pretend to read. 

“Er…” Robena wasn’t quite sure what to do with this. It did put her now in a bit of an awkward situation if Abraxas had indeed changed his mind, which was by no means a certainty. Even though it would smooth her way to Francois, she would also likely be the only Muggle-born in attendance. “Thank you for thinking of me, Lucius,” Robena finally said.

Lucius sighed, his attention still on his book. “Think nothing of it, Miss March.” 

Robena frowned. She had hurt Lucius’ feelings, of that she was sure, but also knew that Lucius would sooner write six feet of parchment on any topic, in French, than ever admit it to her. For the next few hours, Lucius worked quietly and diligently, only pausing to ask the occasional, if somewhat terse, question. 

As promised, they finished up with French, walking around the grounds as they conversed intermittently, but this time staying out of the woods. Instead, they traversed down the white crushed gravel of the great front walk. Each side was lined with perfectly straight yew hedges. Some of the house elves were concurrently out, bundled up as best they could with tea cozies for hats and old towels for cloaks and robes. They bustled cheerfully about the hedge, hanging up hundreds of small globe lights in white and blue. 

Lucius ignored them and looked up at the gray sky. “ _Il neige,_ ” he commented at the fat flakes drifting down and settling in the myriad of fine green needles that comprised the yew.  
It would make a picturesque scene later, if the snow kept up, between the black wrought-iron gate at the end of the walk, the lit hedge, and the soaring heights of Malfoy Manor in the background. Robena could admit that it was a sight she wouldn’t mind seeing. She had been around Malfoy Manor long enough not to be over-awed anymore by its splendor, but the simple fact remained that Malfoy Manor _was_ exquisite, especially when prettied-up for a soirée. 

Robena and Lucius didn’t stay out too long due to the cold, although it always seemed to bother Robena more than it did Lucius. When they went in, a bowing house elf met them at the door. “Master Abraxas requests Miss March’s presence as soon as possible. Master is in the armory.”

Lucius gave Robena his most obnoxious, knowing look before departing in the other direction down the hall. The house elf rushed behind him, gathering his outdoor garments as Lucius shed them with little care as to where they fell. Robena watched them depart and then stood in the atrium for a moment, looking up at the sweeping staircase now trimmed with evergreen bows and the stately dragon sculptures, picturing what it all would look like later when bedizened with the glitterati of the wizarding elite. After a few moments of daydreaming, Robena realized that what she was actually doing was procrastinating and that Abraxas didn’t like being kept waiting.

Robena walked towards the kitchens. Already she could smell bread and pastries baking and their aroma made her mouth water. The kitchen was warm, stifling so, and as Robena passed through, she wove her way through dozens more house elves bustling about in their age-old ballet of preparing a Malfoy feast. Then she was out the back door to the kitchen, down a hallway, through another door, across a small cloistered garden with a now-slumbering fountain, and finally to the door to the armory. 

Robena felt a bit silly knocking, as it wasn’t a personal space, but didn’t wish to take any chances, particularly after their last encounter. So Robena raised her fist and knocked two smart raps on the weathered, iron-studded door. She heard the standard barked response of _come_ from her employer and pushed the door open. 

Upon entering, it was clear to Robena that this was one of the most ancient places in Malfoy Manor, as well as one of the coldest. It was made out of uninsulated stone and smelled of leather, metal, dirt, and and the coppery tang of old blood. Iron butchering hooks hung from the ceiling, which at that point were mercifully empty. Grated channels criss-crossed the stone floor, which sloped downward to a central drain. Longbows, crossbows, and knives of all designs, shapes, and sizes hung on racks on the wall, while arrows and more bows dwelt in cubbies beneath a great, pockmarked wooden table to the side of the room.

Despite the frigid air, Abraxas stood in the middle of the room wearing trousers and a sleeveless tunic of mottled green and brown that shifted before her eyes. Robena wasn’t sure if it was woven through with demiguise fur, enchanted to be camouflaged in such a clever way, or both.  
Abraxas had one foot in its hobnailed boot on a three-legged stool and rested his left forearm on his thigh. Robena watched the muscles in Abraxas’ right forearm move with the seamless precision that only followed long practice as he strapped on a protective leather vambrace.

His task complete, Abraxas stood up straight and regarded her. “Miss March,” he said. In Robena’s experience, many men softened to fat with middle age. Abraxas was not such a man. Robena suspected that as time passed, he had only hardened in every sense of the word. In any event, it was passing strange to see him, ever the bastion of sophistication and aristocratic elegance in such primal surroundings and looking so organic.

Robena nodded warily. “Mr. Malfoy.” 

Abraxas crossed to the side table, scarred from countless errant blade marks. He picked up an unstrung longbow, a beautifully crafted, varnished weapon that had known a great deal of care in the probably hundreds of years it had been in the Malfoy family. Abraxas caught Robena looking and half-smiled. “The dreaded English longbow,” he explained, stroking it with his other hand. “Made of yew, harvested on this very property, it shouldn’t shock you to learn. Note the two-toned wood, crafted from both outer wood and heartwood to provide strength and suppleness, truly a study in contrasts that made it the foremost deadly weapon of its time.” 

Robena’s nod was now polite as little of this was new information to her. Abraxas put the end of the bow down, wedging it against a foot. “You see, Miss March,” he continued, stepping over the bow to use his other leg as counter-traction, “Power of any kind can only be achieved through tempering rigidity with flexibility.” With another gesture that suggested competence, strength, and long practice, Abraxas reached up, bent the top of the bow down and strung it deftly. 

Robena realized then that it was the closest Abraxas would ever come to apologizing to her. “Do you not hunt with magic, sir?” she ventured. 

Abraxas smiled as he stepped out of the bow and set it aside. “I don’t hunt, or perhaps I should say, I don’t kill _deer_ , with a wand, if that’s what you’re asking. That wouldn’t be very sporting, now would it?”

Robena shivered. Abraxas’ words always seemed to have a double meaning. This time, he had tacitly admitted that he killed humans with his wand. Still, it shouldn’t have shocked her, Robena realized. A man who would keep enslaved magical and mythical creatures imprisoned in marble for eternity using what was no doubt Dark Arts would probably cast a Killing Curse like most people would cast _Alohamora_. 

“That said…” Abraxas began, drawing his wand. Robena felt her core and shoulders tighten. Her fingers itched to draw her wand in kind and she forced herself to breathe calmly _in 2…3, out 2…3._ The only thing that stayed her hand was the recollection that the last time the two of them had gone wand-to-wand, it had ended in catastrophe. She also reasoned that if Abraxas were going to Obliviate her, curse her, or kill her, he would have done it by now. As far as Robena knew, Abraxas was still just talking, although she was still in no mood to give him the benefit of the doubt. 

Robena unclenched slightly as Abraxas turned away from her and towards the table. Upon it lay about a dozen arrows fletched with turkey feathers and tipped with hunting points. Abraxas aimed his wand at those sharp, three-sided tips now. “ _Mortis Finalis_ ,” he cast. It was certainly no spell that Robena had ever heard. As she watched, those lethal hunting tips turned a moist blood-red, like an open wound, shimmering in front of her eyes before turning brown, then black, and then finally back to their usual steel color. 

Abraxas picked one up carefully by the shaft, moved so he was standing directly in front of her, and held it between them. “These are now Final Arrows, Miss March,” he said softly. “Were you to sustain even a scratch with one of them, neither magic, nor dressings, nor chirurgery, could heal the wound.” Robena swallowed, her heart speeding up. Abraxas’ eyes met hers. “Now, I know what you must be wondering: was that some sort of dastardly Dark Arts spell that I cast just now, so casually and right in front of you?”

Robena nodded although she knew the question was rhetorical. 

“You can be assured of it. After our last unfortunate encounter and the mercy I have thus far shown you in not…terminating you or Obliviating you, I’m afraid that I shall need to test your loyalty right here and now, should you wish to continue in my employ. And I can only assume that is indeed what you wish, seeing that you didn’t quit Malfoy Manor entirely the other evening after fleeing my office.” 

As with the evening in question, everything in Robena’s mind and heart was screaming at her to run. Abraxas was standing far too close to her. The colors in his tunic continued to move and shift, sometimes blending with the wood and stone, sometimes appearing solid fabric of green and brown, in a mesmerizing, hypnotic array. Robena dared not move a muscle, not to reach for her wand, nor to escape; she knew in her very marrow that it was imperative she stand her ground. 

Abraxas shifted the now-cursed arrow tip downward so that it hovered a mere centimeter above Robena’s left clavicle. In response, Robena focused all her energy on not moving and staying calm. 

“What I need from you now, Miss March,” Abraxas said, still in the same hushed voice, “Is merely some information about your last engagement.”

“W-with the Selwyns?” 

“Just so. If you tell me something about that family that perhaps they wouldn’t want made public, something, say, involving a member of said family and an imprudent romantic prospect…”

 _Merlin’s balls!_ Robena thought, _He wants me to confess about Francois._ Doing so would certainly play to Abraxas’ advantage. Not only would it confirm what Abraxas had only speculated where she was concerned, it would also give him a delectable scandal to hold over the Selwyns. The affair of their heir with a Mudblood would be embarrassing to the Selwyns indeed if it were made public, a secret that Abraxas would be only too happy to hoard. 

“No,” Robena said, feeling her jaw clench. “I’ll not do that.”

Abraxas tipped the arrowhead down a few millimeters more. “Are you quite certain, Miss March, that you’d like to defy my wishes yet again? Choose carefully…”

“Yes,” Robena made her voice low as well so it wouldn’t shake. To Robena’s surprise, Abraxas took the arrow away from her neck, stepped back, and put it with the others. “What—are you doing?” Robena stammered.

Abraxas turned to her again, the half-smile back on his face. “You passed.”

“What?” Robena found that her heart was racing.

Abraxas shrugged. “If you refuse to spread the secrets of the Selwyn family even under the threat of death, then I can be assured that you would not tell any of our secrets either, including the Fell Circle.” His smile faded. “Unless I’m incorrect, of course…”

“No!” Robena said quickly. She cleared her throat. “How are Dark-Arts-magicked arrows sporting if killing deer with a wand isn’t?” Robena felt light-headed, almost giddy and it made her bold as well as desperate to change the subject.

Abraxas turned back to the table and sheathed the arrows carefully in a leather quiver. “It may be considered Dark Arts by our laws, Miss March, but it’s far more merciful than using ordinary arrows. The curse ensures a quick death if one hits anywhere near the core of the animal.”

“Do you intend on missing your mark?” Robena mashed her lips together after a question Abraxas would be sure to find impudent. One of these days, her saucy tongue really was going to get her into trouble. 

However, rather than giving her a rebuke or even a sharp look, Abraxas smiled. “Oh, they’re not for me, at least, not this time.” His eyes traveled behind Robena to the door, which had opened. Lucius stood on the inside.

“Father,” he said formally.

“Are you ready?” 

“Yes, sir.” Lucius was dressed in simpler, non-magical camouflage gear, complete with a poncho with a gray, fur-lined hood. His eyes flicked to Robena and then back to Abraxas. “If you please, father…” he started.

“ ‘If you please, father’…what?” Now Abraxas was putting on a poncho similar to the one Lucius was wearing, but again his was enhanced with the same illusory magical camouflage as the rest of his gear. 

“Have—have you asked her?” Lucius toyed with the straps of his own leather vambrace, a miniature of his father’s. His eyes traveled back to Robena, and carried within them a look of tentative hope.

“Actually, I haven’t had the chance.” Abraxas turned his attention back to Robena. “Miss March, Lucius is insisting that I invite you to our little get-together this evening. Would that be agreeable to you?” As he spoke, he shouldered the quiver and took up his bow. 

Robena looked at Lucius as she answered. “I would be honored to attend,” she answered, gratified to see Lucius’ face light up in a delight that almost brought tears to Robena’s eyes.

“That’s settled, then,” Abraxas said dismissively. “Lucius, take your bow and await me outside. See if you can string it without my assistance this time.” 

Lucius responded with alacrity, grabbing a bow that too was a smaller copy of his father’s and rushing outside, seemingly before Abraxas could change his mind about Robena. Abraxas stepped around her to follow Lucius out. At the doorway, he turned. “One last thing, Miss March.”

“Yes, sir?”

Abraxas’ eyes traveled over her once more in assessment. “You will find garments appropriate for the occasion in your room.” Without another word, he turned and walked through the arched door, out into the falling snow.

Robena gaped after him. _Of all the presumptuous…_ she thought. On anyone else, the decision to outfit her would seem considerate, generous even, but coming from Abraxas it meant only two things. First, that he was assured of her assent in attending the party before even asking her, and that a witch of her station could not possibly possess any gowns worthy of a Malfoy soiree. 

Nonetheless, Robena had to admit to herself that this time at least, Abraxas was right on both counts. She headed directly to her room because she was both curious as to what Abraxas expected her to wear, and wanted a lie-down if possible. With the strain from yet another terrifying encounter with her employer fading from her system, Robena found only fatigue in its wake, and a nap prior to the evening's festivities would not be unwelcome. 

On entering her room and beholding what the dressmaker’s form therein wore, Robena couldn’t help but smile in pleasure although she rebuked herself sharply for this reaction. _Never forget, this man has threatened to kill you twice within a week,_ she reminded herself grimly. Even so, the dress far outstripped anything that Robena had brought to Malfoy Manor, or really anything that she had owned in her entire life.

It had a green velvet bodice with a graceful boat neck, embroidered with black crystals, understated and elegant. The full skirt was made of chiffon of dozens of different shades of green. While Robena was hardly vain, she knew that the colors would complement her auburn hair and green eyes. Robena also thrilled at imagining what Francois would make of it and of her in it. 

Robena took off her winter things and then kicked her shoes off. She lay on her bed and continued to admire the gown. It was simply crafted, but its minimalism merely underscored its quality. It probably would have cost her two months’ salary at the very least, were she to go out and buy it herself. But it would indeed look charming on her, that much was true…with this assurance, Robena closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.

THIRTEEN: THE MARS LINE

By the time Lucius and Abraxas came to the tree line, the snow was already about two inches deep and continuing to fall, covering leaf litter, broken branches, stumps, and rocks in a pristine white blanket. Abraxas made no sound as he walked, even without using magic. Lucius had mastered the same trick not that long ago: rolling each foot carefully from heel to toe, this season’s snow making stealth easier than last season’s dry twigs would have. 

Lucius found that attempting to walk quietly in the snow grounded him and helped him focus. This was the first time his father had taken him hunting. Abraxas had taught him how to string and shoot the long bow and they had practiced together, to the point that Lucius was starting to get pretty good at it, but never had they actually hunted game before. Abraxas hunted, of course, and had brought down a deer every Winter Solstice, per tradition. And now it was Lucius’ turn to start learning and he found it difficult to contain his excitement and nervousness at the prospect.

Just inside the cover of the trees, Abraxas stopped, unslung his bow and quiver and then gestured for Lucius to do the same. They were on the opposite side of the property from the Fell Circle, which was undoubtedly Abraxas’ intention. The incident was still raw for everyone involved and distance in every respect was probably best. Stopping next to an oak tree, Abraxas took a knee and cocked his head, appearing to listen. He then knelt down completely and put his bare hands flat in the snow. 

Abraxas frowned, stood, moved a few meters north and then repeated the procedure, going onto one knee, listening, and putting his hands flat in the snow. Once more he stood, moved further north, and did it once more. This time, when he placed his hands in the snow, Abraxas smiled. He gestured for Lucius to follow him. Lucius knelt next to his father and put his own hands palm-down on the ground. 

“Do you feel it?” Abraxas asked.

“Yes, it’s cold.”

“But of course it’s cold. Any Muggle half-wit could feel that. Close your eyes, Lucius, wait a moment, concentrate, and then tell me what you feel.”

Lucius did as he was told. He closed his eyes and focused his energy to a spot somewhere between his eyes, envisioning that energy as a glowing ball. He then directed the ball to move downwards through his chest and arms, and finally down to his hands and into the earth itself. When he did, Lucius could feel a pulsating force deep under the ground, like the heart of a giant. He concentrated harder and when he did, he began to see it vaguely, a red line stretching infinitely north and south. It seemed strange to ascribe an emotion to it, but were he to do so, Lucius would have identified it as aggressive and unstoppable. 

“Yes…” he heard his own voice, but it seemed almost disembodied, not his own. “It’s a line of energy…powerful and angry.” The cold had fallen from Lucius’ hands, and been replaced by a crackling sort of heat. 

“Open your eyes, Lucius.” Lucius did, and saw his father looking at him with what almost might have passed for respect. “You’re correct. This is the Line of Mars, one of two ley lines that converge on Malfoy Manor. You do know what a ley line is, do you not?”

Lucius nodded, silently thanking Robena for this information that he could now bring to bear and not look ignorant in front of Abraxas. “Ley lines are lines of magical force that cross the earth. The place where two or more cross is called a convergence. The closer a wizard is to a ley line, the easier it is to cast magic. The more lines cross, the more magical the place is.” 

“Indeed. We are fortunate indeed that our ancestors constructed Malfoy Manor on one such convergence; in fact, it is this very aspect that powers our wards, among other things. Our ancestors ensured this in selecting such a place for our home, and for it we must be thankful, particularly as we are going to use the Line of Mars today.” Abraxas took his hands off of the snow, brushed them off, and sat back on his heels. He closed his eyes and held his hands in front of his body, so that the palms faced each other. Abraxas’ mouth moved, but he said no words that Lucius could hear. 

Lucius stared, transfixed, his own hands in his lap, heedless of the snow melting through his trousers at the knees. He had never seen his father cast without a wand, and this type of magic was something wholly different than that typical of wizards. It seemed primitive, unrefined, and far older than the typical wand-and-incant magic to which Lucius was accustomed. Abraxas now moved his hands slowly one around the other, as if gathering something intangible from the air. By some instinct, Lucius closed his eyes once more and focused to the spot between his eyes where he could see the Line of Mars. 

As Lucius did so, he saw the line was pulsing more quickly where it ran underneath them. Although Lucius couldn’t see Abraxas next to him, he could see another energy ball forming where Abraxas hands were, gaining in brightness and size. Now also, Lucius could hear what Abraxas was saying, his voice otherworldly as it was caught up in the ritual. “ _…Oberon’s son invokes the force of Great and Mighty Ares…for only in death can there by life, only in darkness can there be light, only in destruction may there be creation…so may it be done and as we fall, so shall we rise…”_

With this last, the ball of energy slammed into the ground and straight into the ley line, where it shattered, sending one more giant pulse of energy that brightened the light to an almost blinding degree. Perversely perhaps, Lucius opened his eyes against the sudden glare. He felt a single tremor as if the earth itself had shifted on its axis. 

Abraxas paused for only a moment, his hands now back on the snow. He then stood without another word. “Come along,” he said in his normal voice, as if nothing had happened. 

“All of that for a deer?” Lucius couldn’t help but ask.

Abraxas looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “Animals can sense disturbances in the ley lines far more keenly than you or I can under normal circumstances. It will draw any buck that might be about directly to the ley line, so if we continue in this direction, we will more than likely see one.” Abraxas had by now gathered his stowed gear, re-slung his bow and quiver, and started walking once more. His poncho and trousers seemed to be both one with the forest and move on their own, visible one moment, blending seamlessly with the natural architecture of the woods the next. Lucius had once asked his father for a set of hunting gear like that. _Catch a demiguise and then we’ll speak of it,_ Abraxas had answered, somewhat dryly. He may as well have asked Lucius to catch a unicorn and so Lucius dropped the matter, disappointed.

They traversed into the forest proper as the snow continued to fall around them. Lucius could sense the ley line beneath them now, either because he was now attuned to it or because Abraxas had temporarily boosted its power. As they moved through the trees, Lucius remembered how Abraxas had instructed him not only to be physically silent, but to channel his thoughts out completely, to create a blank space around himself mentally and psychically. They were so quiet that Lucius could almost hear the snow falling.

Abraxas stopped at a particularly promising tree surrounded by some sparse underbrush, enough for some cover, but not so much that they couldn’t see around them. He took a knee and then gestured for Lucius to do the same. Lucius knelt in the snow next to him. Abraxas unslung his bow and quiver again, taking up the former, and leaving the latter against the tree. “Now we wait,” Abraxas said, “with a minimum of noise and movement, and in readiness. The deer will come to us.” He handed Lucius a single broadhead, which Lucius took with the utmost care, nocking it and standing loosely ready with his now-armed weapon.

The snow continued to drift down, neither harder nor softer than before. Now that they weren’t moving, Lucius started to hear sounds he had been too distracted to notice while walking. The wind stirred, rattling the scant curling brown leaves that still clung to branches. Far out in the parkland, a crow called, a single harsh caw, which a fainter one answered a few seconds later. Suddenly, the bushes near them rustled. Lucius stiffened, his heart suddenly pounding and lifted his bow, every sense now on the alert. 

Abraxas gently pushed his arm back down as a red squirrel materialized from under the leaf litter with an acorn clutched in its paws. It looked at the two Malfoys without fear and then hopped away, its tail whipping rhythmically with each bounce. “You’ll learn to detest the squirrels, Lucius,” Abraxas remarked. Lucius smiled ruefully at his father and relaxed, his initial fervor dissipating. 

Then it happened, a snap of a twig off to the northeast. Both Lucius and Abraxas froze in place. The deer stood about twenty meters to their right and ahead of their path. It was a roebuck with six points on its antlers. The animal was nosing around in the snow, its haunches twitching. Luckily, Abraxas and Lucius hid downwind from it, otherwise it would have sensed them immediately, despite their stealth and likely flown right away. 

Abraxas nodded to Lucius. It was very difficult to move slowly and Lucius felt his whole body quivering in excitement. _Pretend as if you’re underwater,_ Abraxas’ advice came back to him. As calmly as he could, Lucius drew, sighting as he had practiced a thousand times. The potential for a good shot was perfect, the buck standing broadside to their position with little in the way aside from atmosphere. 

_Oh, Merlin, why must I shake so much?_ Lucius thought in distress. At that moment, the deer brought its head up, saw him, and bolted. In spite of everything Abraxas had ever told him about hunting, Lucius let the arrow fly at the deer’s retreating rump. The arrow hit the animal in its flank and it twitched to the side but picked up speed despite it. Next to him, Abraxas swore, and faster than Lucius could have believed, drew an arrow out, nocked it and let it fly after the deer as well. Luckily, the deer had by then turned broadside once again and Abraxas’ arrow hit it solidly, but still the deer kept moving, snapping dried branches in its flight. 

Lucius went to bolt after it, but Abraxas’ quick reflexes in grabbing his arm halted him by almost pulling his shoulder out of its socket. “Stop."

“But, father, we’ll lose it if—“

Abraxas dropped Lucius’ arm and Lucius rubbed at it. “What did you see happen, Lucius?”

“I shot at the deer and then you shot at it and then it bolted. Quite quickly.”

“That’s not correct and you know it, Lucius. Bear in mind, hunting relies on precision not just in terms of where the arrow physically lands, but in the precision of seeing the situation accurately.”

“Well…” Lucius squirmed. “The deer bolted and then I shot it, and then you shot it.”

“That’s closer to the truth.” Abraxas sighed. “What did I tell you about shooting a moving quarry?”

“Not to,” Lucius muttered. “Even though _you_ did…” He knew he’d get in trouble for this last, but couldn’t help but add it. He had never shot a deer before and felt proud of himself for even hitting it in the first place.

“Because you failed, Lucius,” his father said coldly. “Oh, I’m fully aware that shooting a fleeing deer is less than optimal, but one of us had to salvage the situation and it sure as Hades wasn’t going to be you. You should thank Merlin that I have a modicum of experience, that our arrows are Final Arrows, and that the animal turned just right. Otherwise I’d have you track the prey you so thoughtlessly wounded until the sun burned out of the sky, if it was needed. Then, I’d have you finish the job you botched, and _not_ using my destructive magic, before you ask.” 

Lucius cringed at the ice in his father’s voice, but said nothing else, feeling somewhat chastened. Abraxas then stood and slung his bow and quiver across his back. “My guess is that if you’re lucky, you hit the haunches and if you’re not lucky, you hit the viscera. My further guess is that I hit at least one lung if not both. Thus, let’s find our arrows and see if I’m right, but carefully and quietly. If we startle the animal and it starts running once it’s fallen, we truly may be searching all night long.”

Lucius stood also and slung his bow. He once again moved stealthily and slowly, heeding his father’s instructions. The trail of the deer was easy enough to see, red droplets on either side of a trail of disturbed snow and broken branches. Still, Lucius didn’t follow it, not yet. He dared not until Abraxas gave him permission. Instead, Lucius crossed it roughly at a perpendicular angle, slipping between bushes. He stopped at regular intervals, scanning in a circle for signs of his arrow. Finally, he saw a flash of red out of his peripheral vision, and noticed one arrow caught in some low-hanging branches.

Lucius extracted it, ever mindful of the fatal tip. A slick of bright red covered the arrow almost completely and small bubbles had formed on the shaft. Abraxas came up behind him, also holding an arrow loosely in his right hand. “I’ve recovered my arrow, father,” Lucius said.

Abraxas smirked as he beheld it. “I don’t think so. You’ve recovered _my_ arrow. This is yours.” He held up the arrow, which only had a bit of short brown fur stuck to its broadhead. 

Without another word, Lucius handed over the gore-stained and no doubt successful arrow. Abraxas took it, now holding both in his left hand. With his right, he drew his wand. “ _Tergeo_ ,” he intoned, instantly cleaning all traces of the deer from the two arrows. He put them back in the quiver and then regarded Lucius once more. “We can track the deer at any time you find convenient, Lucius." 

Every sign they now saw pointed to the fact that Abraxas’ arrow was doing its fatal work. The crimson marks of the deer’s ebbing life had splashed on the ground, trees trunks, and branches, stark in contrast with the white snow. Lucius led the way into a clearing, where he could see reddish-brown hide reposing on the snow. It was no longer moving, but to be sure, as Abraxas had instructed him, before he reached the clearing, Lucius knelt into the snow once more. He closed his eyes and reached out with his mind. 

Whether consciously or not, Lucius, Abraxas, and the deer had indeed all been following the Mars Line. Of course, with his eyes closed, Lucius couldn’t see the deer in any sort of tangible way. What he could see was the red life force of the deer draining down from beneath its body into the ground to connect with the ley line below. As the last bit of life force left the deer, the line glowed all the brighter for a few moments, fed on this small death. 

“Is it finished?” Abraxas’ voice caught Lucius out of his trance. 

“Yes, father.” Lucius stood once more. 

“Good.” Abraxas now stepped around Lucius and into the clearing. Lucius followed him, dodging between briers and teasels that wanted to catch at his clothes. They both stopped in front of the deer and Lucius looked down at it. The animal was majestic, even in the repose of its final sleep with its six-pointed rack displayed in the two antlers paired tightly atop its head. 

Lucius looked at his father. “Father, are we going to use magic to, you know…” He trailed off, thinking of the gruesome next step.

Abraxas returned his look. “Surely you’re not squeamish, Lucius?”

Like so many of his father’s questions, Lucius comprehended that this one only had one correct answer. He had seen his father wand-dress and then butcher deer before and learned long ago not to become ill or syncopal through sheer force of will initially and then practice later. It had been a slow learning curve, but each time got easier. Lucius shook his head. “I’m not squeamish, father, just worried about the time. After all, it would be rude to be late to our own party, wouldn’t it?” 

It was a cheap manipulation, and they both knew it, but Abraxas smiled slightly and grunted. “Appallingly.” He reached for his wand, rather than the knife that hung from his belt and pointed it at the deer. “ _Eviscera Relinquo_.” 

Lucius made himself observe the spell’s effects, for several reasons. First, as before, he did not want his father to think him lacking the sort of fortitude needed for this important task. Second, he would need to be able to cast this spell one day and it would be easier if he saw first-hand what it did. Lastly, Abraxas had more or less cast the spell at Lucius’ request, so it would be inconsiderate at best, cowardly at worst not to watch. Even so, the result of a successful Entrail Expelling curse was never pleasant. Abraxas sheathed his wand and smiled at Lucius. “Difficult to believe that’s a Dark Arts spell, wouldn’t you say?” he asked sardonically.

Lucius frowned. “But it’s so useful.” 

Abraxas shrugged in response. “Most spells considered Dark Arts within the confines of the law are quite useful, particularly against enemies. If you threaten to expel someone’s entrails, you’d be surprised at how cooperative they suddenly become.” 

“But you haven’t—I mean—you wouldn’t use _this_ spell on a person, would you father?” Lucius asked, looking away from the gutted deer and into his father’s face.

Abraxas paused for a moment before he gave a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Of course not.”

An errant breeze knifed into the side of Lucius’ neck and he shivered. “We should make haste, Father,” he said. “It’s becoming colder.”

In response, Abraxas drew his wand once more and cast Locomotor on the deer. It was another spell for which Lucius was grateful, although he did realize that Abraxas no more looked forward to dragging the literal dead weight of the deer carcass out of the woods than he himself did, even lighter for having been wand-dressed. As the trees started to thin and give way ahead of them, Lucius began to notice more crows in the trees, calling to each other in their many harsh voices. 

Abraxas heard them too. “This deer will feed more than us and our guests,” he said. 

“Father?” Lucius followed behind his father and the smoothly levitating deer carcass. 

“Yes, Lucius?” Abraxas didn’t turn around, but Lucius knew it was because he was using at least some of his mental and spiritual faculties to maintain the spell.

“I saw the deer’s life go into the ley line.”

”And?”

Lucius pulled a sizable and sturdy stick off of the snowy ground without breaking his stride. He now used it to smack snow off of low-hanging branches as he walked. “It got stronger."

Not breaking his concentration or dropping the tip of his wand down, Abraxas stepped over a fallen log. “Would you expect anything different?” 

“Well…death is like giving up everything, all energy, all life.”

“True, but it has to go somewhere. Magical energy can be neither created nor destroyed; it can only be moved about. All death feeds something else, the life energy doesn’t disappear; it simply redistributes itself. The destructive Mars Line will of course harness the energy from any death in its proximity, even that of a deer. In a literal sense, the meat nourishes our bodies, our guests’ bodies, the crows’ bodies…in a spiritual sense, the death of this animal strengthens the Mars Line. In fact, without destruction, bloodshed, pain, and death, the Mars Line would weaken and eventually fade forever.” 

They had reached the edge of the treeline. Ahead of them spread the neater surface of the manicured lawns, now blanketed in snow, leading up to the hedge and then the edifice of the manor house proper. Abraxas dropped the deer for a moment and regarded Lucius. “It demands sacrifice, Lucius, which isn’t always agreeable or easy, and one day, when you are master of Malfoy Manor, the task shall fall to you, so best be prepared. It shall thus be your duty never to let the strength of the Malfoy line falter, in this aspect or any other. Always be mindful of that.”

With that, Abraxas cast Locomotor once more and they continued through the garden and back to the armory. Lucius rushed ahead of him to push open and hold the heavy door. Abraxas followed him in and let the deer fall onto the wooden table. He kept his wand out, however and Lucius knew he would use it to butcher the deer. Abraxas saw Lucius watching him and did a double take. “You needn’t stay, Lucius. You may go and clean yourself up if you wish. There will be other opportunities, particularly when you’re of age, and it’s nothing you haven’t seen.” 

Lucius opened the door to the courtyard, hoping for a quick escape before his father could change his mind, but before he stepped out, he turned. “Thank you for taking me hunting, father."

“You’re quite welcome, Lucius. Now, run along.”

Lucius closed the door behind him and walked across the white courtyard. Although he was tired and hungry, his heart felt light. This day was good.


	5. Ch. 14: Nightmare; Ch. 15: Gossip; Ch. 16: The Piano

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> During her nap, Robena has a nightmare about Abraxas and the missing statue. Later that evening, the Solstice Ball commences. Walberga "Jade" Black pulls Druella aside and spills the tea about Abraxas' true intentions for Robena, much to Druella's consternation. Snubbed by Lucius and ridiculed by Bellatrix, Narcissa finds courage from an unexpected source. Abraxas grants Narcissa a unique privilege after telling her a heart-wrenching tale about his late wife. 
> 
> _“You do not get to do that,” Narcissa said, her voice pitched low. “You don’t say a word about me and Lucius. Never, do you understand?” This new voice didn’t waver, wasn’t dreamy or distracted, but cut like a finely honed blade, and to Narcissa’s surprise, she saw a spark of fear in Bellatrix’ eyes._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Try and bear in mind while reading 15 that Walberga Black is the one screaming out of the portrait about Mudbloods and blood traitors at 12 Grimmauld Place in _Order of the Phoenix,_ so if she seems like a bitch, well...Also, 16 is one of my favorite chapters in the entire work.

FOURTEEN: NIGHTMARE

When Robena opened her eyes, she found herself outside, lying on the ground atop the fresh snow. Strangely, however, she did not feel cold. She sat up and looked around. The snow that had been falling earlier no longer fell, but hung in suspended animation all around her, as if time had stopped. She blinked a few times and noticed strange objects laying in the snow all around her, evenly spaced blocks of solid white marble, and beyond them, a round driftwood fence topped with antlers.

Robena stood, recognizing that she was in the Fell Circle again, but this time all of the statues were missing except for one. Robena turned slowly. As if under a spell, she walked towards the sole statue, reaching her hand out towards it, even as she knew that she ought not to. The siren had her arms raised in a posture of defense, her face frozen in a look of dismay. Her garments were constructed in an archaic style with yards of backless draped fabric, but somewhat in disarray and here and there rent with tears.

Robena brushed her hand over the statue’s arm. As with the dryad earlier, the siren started moving slowly, still crafted of marble as she dropped her arms, although even as she turned to flesh, her skin was still quite pale, but her hair turned auburn and her eyes turned green.

“Oh, Merlin,” Robena whispered as her own face came out upon the statue, but harsh and pitiless in a way that Robena had never been. A gold corona in the green of the iris wreathed each pitch-black pupil, eyes not remotely human. As the siren turned to adjust her disheveled garment, Robena gasped in shock. Two stumps of flesh rose between the siren’s shoulder blades, raw and bleeding as she moved, cascading blood down her bare back.

The siren straightened, hiding the grisly wounds from Robena once again. “So, you’ve come." Her voice felt like an anesthetic needle in the base of Robena’s skull, both piercing and soothing at the same time. Robena felt her eyes close slightly. “In search of knowledge, no doubt. They all do, to their downfall, every single one of them.” The siren climbed down off of her marble slab and came closer to Robena, her movements fluid and graceful. 

Robena found it difficult to follow what the siren said, as every word compelled her in strange ways, quickening something atavistic and irresistible inside of her. With the greatest of effort, Robena found her own voice finally. “But he’s going to silence you.” Robena winced at what sounded like marbles in a tin can after the spiced honey of the siren’s voice. 

“What do you imagine that means?” Now the siren sounded amused.

“K-kill you.”

The siren laughed outright, something akin to a cascade on a harp or the babble of a creek, but with discordant undertones, like glass breaking. “No, he won’t kill me. His forebears may have torn me from my place of cosmic completion, his ancestors may have cut off my wings, and he himself may make me do his will and silence me, while all enslave me for eternity in marble, but _I_ am not expendable.”

“Why did he take you? How is he going to silence you?” 

The siren circled Robena, those brilliant eyes never leaving her. “You are so very curious. More so than any other that has come before you. Knowledge is like food to you, I can already see it. In many ways perhaps you and I are alike. And I have a veritable feast for you, if you can stomach it. Unlike _them_ , I am bound by no oaths of secrecy.” Robena noticed that as the siren moved, the suspended snow moved out of her way. Once she vacated the space, each individual flake moved back into its pre-destined spot in her void. 

“Well, then, tell me please!” Robena was unsure if she had asked out loud or just thought the request.

“Yes, I can tell you, but this knowledge comes at a price and may dash your little ship onto the rocks, whereupon you shall drown, the water closing over your head, like all the others…when all you want to do is spread your wings and fly, just as I did before all of this.” She gestured with one arm at the marble blocks before she laughed again. Robena began to suspect that the siren was quite mad. She supposed that anyone tortured and enslaved for eternity would be. 

Robena shook her head. “No, I can’t…I can’t _not_ know.”

The siren stopped in front of her and regarded her with a look of sadness in eyes so similar to and yet so different from Robena’s. “They never can. And in the end, it destroys them all.” She sighed and closed those eyes now. Slowly, she drew her hands apart and as she did, she began to chant: “ _With the silencing of the siren…so shall we silence the truth…never more may it be pulled from the Acolyte’s lips… not by compulsion, not by potion, not by poison, but only through his freely given will to tell the truth…we the Coterie bind him to Loyalty…we bind him to Secrecy…we bind him against Division…we bind him to Obedience…he shall now possess the siren…rending from her this great and powerful gift…Visita, Interiora, Terrae, Rectificando, Invenies, Occultum, Lapidem._ ” 

With each utterance, the siren drew her hands farther apart and Robena could feel the air pressure increasing between them as if a bubble were about to burst. The siren suddenly opened her eyes. “ _Sempre_ ,” she said in a whisper that sounded like a distant avalanche. She then slammed her hands together. The resulting thunderclap shook the ground and Robena blinked reflexively. When she opened her eyes, the snow now fell in earnest and Robena could hear the wind howling. Time had restarted. The siren then stepped aside to reveal Abraxas Malfoy and his dreaded English longbow. 

Abraxas held up his left hand, which revealed a small cut at the base of the thumb from which a small line of blood ran down his wrist. He moved close to the siren and stood over her before passing his left hand under the line of her jaw, almost a caress before slapping her hard across the face. The siren’s head went to the side and even as she was bringing her hand up to where the blow had landed and Abraxas’ blood lingered, she was already solidifying back to white marble. “ _Lord and Master, I rest_ ” she said automatically, returning to her block. 

Abraxas then turned his attention back to Robena, who found her feet glued to the snowy ground. The shifting fabric of his tunic continued its mesmerizing dance before Robena, and this time, his arms were bare, less the leather vambrace. His eyes never left Robena’s as he reached up behind his shoulder and drew out a Final Arrow. 

“Are—are you going to shoot me?” Robena asked. 

Abraxas smiled coldly. “Well, that depends, doesn’t it?” He nocked the arrow and brought the bow up, sighting down the shaft. “Can you reach your wand before I loose this arrow into anything vital of yours?” 

Robena set her jaw and, as she had in the study, drew her wand as quickly as she could, pointing it at Abraxas. Even as she did so, with a sinking sensation in her gut, she heard the bowstring snap. However, rather than shooting something central in Robena’s body, the arrow had knocked her wand from her hand. She looked quickly at Abraxas, whose cold smile hadn’t wavered in the slightest. “Not very sporting, now is it?” 

Robena licked her lips, her eyes flicking to the tangled driftwood into which her wand had flown. Abraxas was already drawing once more and Robena knew that she wouldn’t have time to find her wand before Abraxas shot her in earnest. She further knew that she was far too panicked to do anything as taxing as casting a wandless Accio to retrieve it. Instead, Robena ran headlong out the archway and into the woods. 

Robena knew that her only chance was to find a hiding place and go to ground. She would never outrun Abraxas and his cursed arrows, besides the fact that he would hear her crashing around in the underbrush. Luckily, the snow that had fallen earlier hadn’t seemed to stick, nor was the new snow, so she perhaps Abraxas wouldn't track her so easily. She fled about 150 meters into the woods away from the Fell Circle, found a large, ancient oak and ducked behind it. 

Robena then waited, her pulse roaring in her ears. To her dismay, in no time, she heard slow, measured footsteps in the leaves. “I know what you must be thinking, Miss March,” she heard Abraxas call. “ ‘Perhaps he can be reasoned with. After all, he’s frightfully practical.’” His voice was getting closer and Robena warred with herself as to whether or not she should escape or shelter in place. Abraxas continued. “Unfortunately for you, the only task that I have today is to ensure unequivocally that you can never tell my secrets to anyone else.” 

He was now essentially right on top of her. It was now or never. Robena opted to take flight, crashing through underbrush. By some premonition she ducked quickly as she ran, and saw a Final Arrow bury its cursed tip in a tree not three inches from where her head had been mere seconds before. Robena darted this way and that, before finding another tree, this one deeper in the woods. “There’s little point in playing this game with me, Miss March." Abraxas' voice preceding him through the woods. “I know these parklands like I know my own wand. There is nowhere you can hide that I can’t find you. Run if you will, but you’ll only die short of breath.” 

Indeed, Robena heard her own breathing, rushed and desperate in her ears. Whether or not Abraxas was right, she had to try. She had to run until her lungs exploded or Abraxas ran out of arrows, whichever came first. He couldn't win; Robena wouldn't allow it. Again, Robena sprang up and took off running. Abraxas was far closer than Robena thought and in her peripheral vision, she watched him draw the magnificent weapon and sight down the arrow once more. 

As Robena wove to narrowly avoid another massive oak tree that stood in her way, edging sideways around it, she felt a burning pain in her left shoulder and immediately lost the ability to move. She looked down and saw the arrow shaft and feather fletching from Abraxas’ successful hit protruding from the spot where her arm met her shoulder, pinning her like a mounted butterfly. Robena’s eyes pricked with tears, not just from the pain, but from the sheer injustice of all of it.

Abraxas walked towards her calmly. Robena struggled, but the pain was too great and she knew she would never be able to get free. She would die just as surely as all of Abraxas’ slain deer and any other victims over whom he had gained power, including quite possibly Lucius’ other governesses. Abraxas stopped a few feet away from her and set the bow down. He drew his wand instead. “Now, you truly had me convinced that I could trust you not to betray our secrets.” He shook his head with disapproval as he moved in. Now he was so close, Robena could feel the heat from his body, a contrast to the arctic air of the forest. “And yet, I find you out in my Fell Circle yet again…prying even more secrets, _deeper_ secrets still from my siren.” 

Abraxas brought his still-bleeding left hand up to Robena’s face, and in a perfect echo of what he had done with the siren, caressed the underside of her jaw with his hand. Robena could feel the dampness of his blood going onto her skin, warm and slightly tacky. “Still, it just goes to show…” Abraxas tilted his head down to Robena’s ear, where he whispered, “you can’t ever trust a Mudblood.” 

Robena swallowed as Abraxas brought his wand tip so that it was under her chin. When Robena blinked, she felt a tear slip down her face. “Lucius shall miss me,” she said softly.

Abraxas came away from her to stand before Robena once again, although he didn’t move his wand even a millimeter. His smile was unrestrained now. “He got over Georgina easily enough. I daresay he’ll get over you too.” With that, his smile was replaced with a look of purest hatred. “ _Avada Kedavra._ ” There was a flash of green light and everything went black. 

Robena found herself floating in a dark place, but a golden light shone from from somewhere. She looked down to see a bright filament coming out of her midsection like a fishing line strung straight out ahead of her. It was down this filament that she floated, a bead on a cosmic string. The line went on, but the light grew dimmer as she moved and Robena saw that after a few yards, the golden filament faded out, blending with the void. A flicker of movement off to her right caught her eye. The silhouette of a strange creature swam slowly towards her. Sometimes it looked like a sea creature, other times like a human, his limbs unclear as to whether they were tentacles or arms and legs. It swam closer and closer, neither speeding up nor slowing down. Robena panicked fully now, trying ineffectually to swim against the inexorable journey that she was making to the end of the line and away from whatever was coming for her. Closer she floated, closer…she closed her eyes against the inevitable, squeezing them tight and waiting.

Nothing seemed to be happening. Robena opened her eyes yet again. She was back in her bedroom within Malfoy Manor. Her heart hammered in her chest, her mouth was dry, and her shirt clung to her back. Robena sat up, her hand automatically going to the shoulder pierced in the dream. Robena let out a shaky sigh of relief to find no more than the fabric of her shirt sleeve rather than a protruding arrow shaft. She looked down at her midsection next, which of course revealed nothing of the strange golden line that had been there just moments before. 

Robena brought both of her trembling hands up to her face and rubbed at her eyes, trying to erase the memory of the nightmare. A knock sounded at the door and although it was gentle, Robena started. “Who—who is it?” 

“It’s Bonnsie, miss. May I come in?”

Robena swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood, brushing her skirt straight. “Of course,” she called. 

Bonnsie opened the door and entered, bowing to Robena before regarding her curiously. “Miss isn’t dressed yet? The party starts in 15 minutes…shall Bonnsie wait outside while Miss puts on the lovely gown that Master left for her?” 

Robena looked at the innocuous green velvet gown in dismay, not wanting anything to do with it after her dream. But of course she had to put it on; she had no choice at this point. “Yes…” she murmured. “Yes, that would be best.” 

“Very good, miss.” Bonnsie bowed once again and backed out of the room, shutting the door behind her. 

Like an automaton, Robena disrobed quickly, unzipped the gown and took it off the dress form with a flourish, making the chiffon skirt swirl around. For a moment, against the carpet, it looked like the shifting mosaic of Abraxas’ hunting gear and Robena shuddered involuntarily, but the feeling quickly passed. Robena put her arms over head and slipped the dress on. As it moved across her ears, she could have sworn she heard the faintest whisper, almost like the siren’s voice, but couldn’t make out words. Robena shook her head firmly. She was imagining things, that was all; these were merely whisperings of residual spiritual vapors from her dream, nothing more. 

Robena freed her hair and then walked over to the door and opened it back up, admitting Bonnsie once again. She let Bonnsie zip her up and then start on her hair, something _fancier,_ as Bonnsie had suggested just that morning. She worked Robena’s hair into a graceful braided half-coronet around the back of her head, with some loose tendrils framing her face. 

When Bonnsie finished, Robena drew her wand and cast a quick glamour on her own face, just a tad bit of make-up to elongate her eyes, make her lips redder, and her give her cheeks a glow. Satisfied that she looked pretty without being ostentatious, Robena stood and twirled for Bonnsie. 

“Miss is a vision!” Bonnsie squealed, her giant blue eyes dancing in delight. 

Robena looked at herself in the glass from her washstand. “Yes, it’ll do nicely, I think." She smiled for the first time since waking from her nightmare.

Bonnsie put her hands on her hips, the sly look back in her eyes. “Well, one thing is for sure, Master won’t be able to to miss you.” 

Robena felt the smile slide right off her face. “No, indeed,” she replied quietly, “He would never miss me.” 

FIFTEEN: GOSSIP

“If the three of you aren’t ready in the next ten seconds, we are Apparating without you,” Druella called up the stairs of Blackwood Hall. It may have been unrefined to holler at her three unruly daughters, but Druella’s patience had come to its end. Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Narcissa had been reasonably well-behaved since Mr. Twilfitt had fitted them for their gowns, but now that the party was actually upon them, while they dared not fight, all three were so distracted and feather-headed that the act of going to the Malfoys’ party was like herding cats.

“Coming, mother,” one of them, Andromeda probably, called down the stairs. Then, in what sounded like a stampede of runaway Erumpets, all three of them crashed down the stairs, laughing. 

Druella shook her head, amused in spite of herself. Still, she faced the three girls with sternness and drew herself up straight. “Well, let’s have a look at you.”

The three girls stood side by side in a row, first Bellatrix, then Andromeda, and lastly Narcissa. Bellatrix had at least brushed her masses of wild dark hair and, with her barely contained mirth, she almost looked pretty. Mr. Twilfitt had outfitted her with a gown that moved from gray to black in an ombre on the bias. Silver and black crystals were sewn in decorative lines on a diagonal every few inches. 

Andromeda looked stunning, as usual, in a red velvet frock with long sleeves, trimmed with white fur at the waist and the sleeves. Her hair curled gracefully down her back in ringlets and her eyes were bright. Narcissa slouched, of course, but even still, she looked demure and tasteful in her cream-colored gown. Druella herself wore her own new creation, cream, black, and red, not matching precisely, but encompassing colors and themes from all three of the girls’ gowns. In appraising her daughters, Druella nodded in approval. “Now, where in the name of Zarathustra is your father?” she asked, annoyance making its way back into her voice. 

Andromeda shrugged. “You know he likes to look his best, mother." 

Druella refrained from rolling her eyes. Andromeda was right, of course. Cygnus was vainer than the four of them put together, even though he was too middle-aged and whiskery for anyone to consider him a dandy. On cue, Cygnus emerged down the hall from the foyer in which they stood. He wore neatly pressed black dress robes and a starched white shirt with a white bowtie. His silver pocket square matched the lining of his cloak, catching the light of the foyer as he flipped the cloak over his shoulder with flair.

“Father, you look quite fine,” Narcissa commented. The others voiced agreement. 

Druella nodded firmly. “Then we must go. We are already 15 minutes late at the least. Dear?” She looked at Cygnus, who preened under his daughters’ admiration in the gilt-framed mirror that hung in the hall. Cygnus turned back to Druella, smiled abashedly, and at last stood on the other side of the three girls, opposite from Druella. They drew their wands simultaneously and Disapparated.

When they Apparated once more, they now stood outside the wrought-iron gates of the Malfoy walk. A white peacock paced on the other side. Druella knew that the Malfoys’ iconic white peacocks were in reality glamored minor fae. Even Cygnus didn’t know what arrangement kept them out of the Realm of Morgaine and within the Realm of Merlin, but clearly there was something, because they were always there, guarding and patrolling the perimeter of the formal gardens surrounding the house. 

Cygnus held up the invitation. “ _Toujours Pur_ ,” he spoke the Black family motto. 

“ _Sanctimonia Vincet Semper_ ,” came the reply from everywhere and from nowhere, as if the grounds themselves spoke the Malfoy words. 

On well-oiled hinges, the gates swung silently open and the five Blacks walked through. Their breath puffing out in the cold air as white clouds, the girls marveled at the lights lining the white gravel walk along the hedges and the brightly-lit house itself. Above the great spires and crenelations of the manor, the stars sparkled down in their never-ending dance through the eons. Druella looked at the myriad points of light in the sky, marveling for a moment at just how many constellations had passed over Malfoy Manor since its construction and what they must have witnessed. 

When the Blacks arrived at the threshold, the lacquered black doors swung open to admit them, two Malfoy-tea-towel-liveried house elves operating them in synchronicity. The house elves closed the doors behind them and bowed. Another house elf approached and bowed low as well. “This way, please,” he said, as more house elves took their cloaks. He led them down the long gallery and into the ballroom. 

Evergreen bows and thousands of tiny lights decorated the grand space of the ballroom. Above them, the ceiling was enchanted to show the Milky Way galaxy. Druella noted that they had arrived at the perfect time, neither the first nor the last. The Averys were there, as well as the Flints and the Lestranges. In the corner, Augustus Nott engaged in what was either a heated argument or a spirited discussion with Bertram Yaxley, who gesticulated wildly enough to almost spill his drink. Omar Shafiq helped himself to the buffet table, accompanied by his significantly younger wife Taksine. She wore a backless gold sequined dress that looked like it had been painted onto her ebony skin. From another corner, Duncan Rowle’s eyes followed her with unbridled lust as he sat by himself and gloomily nursed some sort of blue-flamed spirit out of a crystal highball.

“Cygnus and Druella, how good of you to come.” Abraxas Malfoy had broken away from his conversation with Horace Slughorn and headed their direction. He was dressed similarly to Cygnus in classic black and white, but, if Druella were completely honest, and more than a little disloyal, Abraxas pulled it off better. Perhaps it was because Abraxas looked handsome so effortlessly or perhaps because he always appeared so sure of himself. He clasped Cygnus’ hand and both took the other’s elbow in what Druella recognized as the Coterie greeting.

Abraxas then turned to Druella and kissed her hand, his intense blue eyes never leaving hers. “You look stunning, Druella,” he gave the obligatory nod to flattery before dropping her hand. 

Druella inclined her head graciously. “Thank you.”

Abraxas turned his attention to the three girls. “Lucius is around here somewhere." He gestured to the rest of the ballroom vaguely. 

“You may run along, girls,” Druella said. The girls exchanged excited glances and then rapidly escaped, laughing already. 

Abraxas watched after them indulgently before turning back to the two Black adults. “Cygnus, I could use a word if your lovely wife can spare you." His glance at Druella was perfunctory, as if he was already assured of her answer. 

Druella kept her smile polite despite her irritation. “Of course.” Cygnus and Abraxas disappeared and Druella felt her smile fade. No doubt they were discussing Coterie business. Not even five minutes _that_ had taken. However, Druella didn’t have any time to dwell on it as she felt a gentle hand on her elbow. She turned to find her sister-in-law Jade Black standing behind her. 

“Druella, how lovely to see you again,” Jade said, as they gave each other a peck on either cheek. Jade’s eyes were already bright and she had what was likely not her first champagne flute in her left hand, her fingers tapping the glass. A sable stole embraced her slim shoulders, to complement her sparkling black velvet gown.

“And you as well.” Druella smiled once again. “Where are Sirius and Regulus?” 

“I almost didn’t bring them. Savage little beasts.” Jade indicated the buffet table with her champagne flute, where Sirius spooned potato mash onto Regulus’ plate for him as Regulus tugged futilely at his starched collar. Jade then turned back to Druella. “You need a drink, my dear." She caught the attention of a passing house elf with a snap of her manicured fingers. The house elf brought its uplifted tray over and Jade quaffed the rest of the contents of her champagne flute before placing the empty one on the tray and taking two full ones, handing one to Druella. 

They clinked and then moved to the edge of the room to better observe the party. Druella took a sip of her drink. The champagne was miles better than what she had sampled at Twilfitt & Tattings, but of course it would be: crisp and effervescent. For some time, she and Jade made small talk about their families and the many small worries and commonalities of raising children as the party buzzed around them. 

After a few moments, Druella observed a newcomer, a comely, medium-built witch in her early twenties with wavy auburn hair, wearing a green velvet and chiffon dress. Druella looked at her curiously, as the girl seemed to be avoiding speaking with anyone and moved surreptitiously around the perimeter of the room. “Jade, who is that young woman?” she asked her companion.

Jade followed Druella’s line of sight and made a noise of contempt. “Oh, _her…_ ” She took another sip of champagne, “She’s Lucius’ latest governess. Robena…something.”

Druella snorted. “Let me guess, a Ravenclaw?”

Jade waved her hand impatiently. “Probably, but it’s a coincidence I’m sure.”

“Why do you say that?”

“She’s a Mudblood.”

Druella almost choked on her champagne. “I beg your pardon?” 

“Well, what did you expect, darling?” Although Jade shook her head mournfully, her eyes sparkled with glee. “Poor girl has no idea what she’s in for…”

“What do you mean?” Druella felt a frisson of the type of excitement that only comes before hot gossip. 

With great theatricality, Jade took Druella’s hand and pulled her out of the ballroom completely. She walked them both into the hallway and then down a few doors to a small and cozy candlelit drawing room, where they both sat down in gold brocade armchairs facing each other. Jade looked around to make sure there was no one else in the room and then pitched her voice low. “Abraxas _only_ hires Mudblood governesses for Lucius, as it happens."

Druella felt her brows knit in consternation. “But what on earth can he mean by it?”

Jade smiled vindictively. “Oh, I think you know…”

Druella frowned. “Well, I suppose that no girl from a respected pureblood family would seek such employ. I mean, _I_ for one would certainly not want one of _my_ girls becoming—“

“Why, Druella Persephone Rosier Black, I had no idea you were _this_ naïve…” Jade cut her off. She leaned in conspiratorially. “He _takes_ them…avails himself of them, whether they will it or not.”

Druella felt her eyes widen. “You mean he _forces--_ ”

“Hush! Not so loud,” Jade looked nervously at the door. “And, no—I mean—I doubt much _force_ is really needed.” She shook her head. “Sweet Merlin, if I weren’t miserably married, _I_ wouldn’t say no to—“ 

“Yes?” Druella said crisply, in an attempt to stop Jade from saying more than she ought whilst tipsy.

Jade looked at her, her own eyes wide before she waved her champagne flute around negligently. “The point is, you know how Mudblood girls are.” She smirked and took another sip of her drink, her pinky lifted delicately. 

“But you said ‘whether they will it or not.’” 

Jade sighed in irritation. Clearly, Druella was not responding to this juicy tidbit in any sort of satisfactory way. “Well, it keeps them in their place, even if they _don’t_ will it. I mean really, think it through, darling: most are jumped up at Hogwarts and get all sorts of ridiculous, progressive ideas. Besides, as governesses to the Malfoys, they should be so lucky to have such an assignment, regardless of what comes with it.” She sniffed. “No one ever said that serving this family was easy.” With this last, Jade gestured expansively at the molded ceiling. “In fact, the last governess who stayed on for any meaningful length of time quit suddenly and very unprofessionally, I might add.”

Druella felt hollow inside. She didn’t have any regard for Mudbloods or blood traitors, but regardless of purity status, whether they knew it or not, these women stood in for Lucius’ poor, deceased mother. As such, surely they deserved better treatment than being abused by Abraxas in his less-savory appetites and all-consuming need to control everything and everyone. “What was her name?” Druella asked quietly. 

Jade chewed her lip and scowled in concentration as she tried to recall. “Georgina…” She paused. “Bailey. Georgina Bailey from Manchester. Someone told me she moved back there after, married a Muggle, no doubt producing some filthy-blooded children in the bargain.” Jade sneered and drained her glass. “Good riddance, honestly. The Malfoys could do so much better.” 

_How much good can a governess do under constant threat to her virtue and her person?_ Druella wondered, but did not ask aloud. She stood up, finished her drink and set the empty flute on a polished mahogany side table. “Lovely to chat,” she said brightly to Jade, “Must go mingle. Do enjoy yourself, my dear.” She turned from Jade quickly, who looked as if she might say something else. 

Druella ducked back into the hallway before squaring her shoulders. She felt vaguely sickened with the news. She didn’t want to believe it and yet she had known Abraxas for a very long time. In any event, Jade was right about one thing: it was indeed naïve to assume that Abraxas Malfoy had literally any other reason on the planet to hire Mudblood governesses except to subject them to his will on every possible level, including possession of their bodies. Druella shuddered. She stepped back into the glittering, noisy ballroom. _Robena,_ she thought, _Robena the Muggle-born Ravenclaw_. She must find this girl and give her fair warning; she owed Laila Malfoy nothing less, Merlin rest her soul. 

SIXTEEN: THE PIANO

“It’s my turn.” 

“No, you just went two turns ago. It’s Andromeda’s turn if it’s anyone’s.”

Narcissa stifled a yawn. She, Sirius, Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Lucius had been playing Gobstones for about half an hour in the billiard room down the hallway from the ballroom. Unfortunately, but inevitably, the game had devolved mostly into Bellatrix and Lucius sniping at each other. Not for the first time, Bellatrix now glared at Lucius. “You always take up for ‘Dromeda,” Bella huffed. 

“That’s not true at all,” Lucius replied haughtily. “I just believe in playing fair, something you obviously don’t.” 

Bellatrix snorted. “Since when?” 

Sirius took his shooter out. “Actually,” he cut over both of them. “It’s my turn. Neither of you plays fair, as it happens.” To Narcissa, he sounded as bored as she felt. Sirius put his tongue between his teeth in concentration and shot, knocking two of Lucius’ stones out of the ring, where they turned from their respective red and green to a dull gray. Lucius narrowed his eyes as Sirius smiled and took the two stones, adding them to his growing pile.

“Good show,” Andromeda said. “But not good enough to out-play me.” She raised eyebrow and gave her cousin a grin, which Sirius returned, before gesturing for her to take the field. Andromeda plied her red shooter with ease, but as it hit Sirius’ stones, it bounced wide and out of the circle. 

Sirius smile widened even more. “You were saying?” 

Andromeda’s own grin slipped off her face. “Good show,” she said again to him, but darkly this time.

“It’s your turn, Lucius,” Narcissa reminded him, her voice earnest.

Lucius ignored her and took his shot, knocking out one of Bellatrix’ stones and one of Narcissa’s.

“Lucky shot,” Bellatrix said sullenly.

“As if you could do better.”

“I’m better than you could ever hope to be, Lucius Malfoy. In fact, if we had wands, I’d—“

“All right,” Sirius cut her off and stood. “As delightful as this has been, watching the two of you flirt has grown boring.” 

Lucius and Bellatrix now both rounded on Sirius, speaking angrily at the same time. 

“I would never, _ever--_ ”

“He’s vile and a cheater. He’s a vile cheater.” Bellatrix crossed her arms and scowled. 

“That’s so clever, Bellatrix. Did you come up with it on your own?” Lucius raised an eyebrow and Narcissa secretly commended him for staying cool under the blast-furnace that was Bellatrix’ wrath. 

Bellatrix fumed but had no answer. For a moment, no one spoke. From down the hallway, strains of lively music drifted. Lucius turned his attention to Andromeda instead. He too stood, offering his arm to Andromeda. “If you’d care to dance, Andromeda, I’d be happy to do you the honor.” 

Narcissa’s heart sank at this, and now that Bellatrix had drawn attention to it, this attraction that Lucius had for Andromeda was painfully obvious. Andromeda smiled thinly. “Thank you, no,” she said, shooting a pleading look at Sirius that Lucius thankfully missed but Narcissa caught.

“Would you dance with me, Cousin Shrub?” Sirius asked, as if the idea had just occurred to him.

Andromeda pretended to consider before finally rolling her eyes. “Well, if you _insist_ , Cousin Dog…” She stood, took his arm and left the other three. 

Narcissa watched Lucius’ jaw tighten as he glared resentfully after the happy couple walking arm-in-arm down the hall back to the party. _Now’s my chance,_ Narcissa thought, her heart speeding up. “I—I’ll dance with you, if you want,” she said before she could lose her nerve. 

Lucius turned to her, smiling frostily. “I don’t think so.” Without another word, he turned and exited.

Narcissa’s eyes prickled and her heart fell. Of course Lucius preferred Andromeda. Everyone else did, why should her future husband be any different? Behind her, Narcissa heard slow applause. She turned around, her heart now racing in anger. Bellatrix fixed her with a look of smirking contempt as she clapped her hands slowly. “Bravo, 'Cissy.” She stood. “Congratulations on making a total fool of yourself.” 

Narcissa’s own hand moved without her even thinking. No conscious decision-making process affected the movement; it was merely reflexive, born from the spinal cord like pulling one’s hand from something hot. Before she could stop it, Narcissa reached up and slapped Bellatrix hard across the face. In shock, Bellatrix moved her own hand up to touch the now-reddening mark. It was the first time Narcissa had ever done anything of the kind. 

Narcissa found that something cold quickened in her core, a serpent uncoiling after a deep hibernation. In a detached way, Narcissa found that she harbored no regrets about striking Bellatrix. “You do not get to do that,” Narcissa said, her voice pitched low. “You don’t say a word about me and Lucius. Never, do you understand?” This new voice didn’t waver, wasn’t dreamy or distracted, but cut like a finely honed blade, and to Narcissa’s surprise, she saw a spark of fear in Bellatrix’ eyes. It was there for but a moment only before a look of burning resentment replaced it. 

“You and Vile Lucius deserve each other,” Bellatrix finally spat, her hand still on her face. She got up and exited, leaving Narcissa alone.

Narcissa closed her eyes and took a deep breath, suddenly very aware of Malfoy Manor all around her, not just miles of cold marble, polished wood, and heavy timbers, but centuries of history. Eons of ruthlessness and strength poured into Narcissa, filling her up from the tips of her toes to the ends of her hair. In surprise, Narcissa opened her eyes, realizing what had happened, and the manner in which this power had fueled her lashing out at Bellatrix. The house had chosen her and given its unspoken approval. 

Narcissa smiled in the dim room, looking around with new eyes at the tables and chairs, the billiard table, the bookshelves. That she would be mistress of it all was not just a fantasy any more, now it was her destiny. Narcissa drifted out the door and down the hall, but rather than returning to the ballroom, she wandered in the other direction, hearing the party noise fade as she walked. Vaguely, Narcissa supposed that it was rude to go about Malfoy Manor without an escort of that name, and yet she felt assured that at this moment, it didn’t matter. 

Her feet measured the black marble, shot through with white and gold veins. The enchanted floor rippled when Narcissa placed each foot upon it, sending visual reverberations out to the wall or whatever object the ripples hit before bouncing back to her. Another room stood off to her right with the door open. Narcissa peeked through it and her breath caught. 

The grand conservatory stood beyond that door and the piano therein had caught Narcissa’s attention. Its black, polished surface shone like a scrying glass and mother-of-pearl inlays complemented its body in glorious scrollwork, flowers and flourishes. Without question, it was the most beautiful piano that Narcissa had ever seen in her life. She moved closer and noticed that the iridescent colors within the mother-of-pearl moved and swirled slowly, as if the entire piano was alive. 

Narcissa knew that she had to play it; refraining from doing so right that second wasn’t a choice. She glanced at the door for a moment, but no one was coming, everyone else was dancing and eating and socializing. The piano was all hers. Narcissa sat down at the bench and placed her fingers on the smooth keys, suddenly nervous and unsure what on earth she _should_ play on such a dazzling instrument. She took a deep breath and pushed down the D below Middle C. 

A pure, reverberating sound emerged in response to the feather-light action. To Narcissa’s surprise, when she played simply one note, the inlays glowed and then receded as the sound faded. Narcissa tried the A below the D, and it happened again, then B, then F-sharp, then G, and so forth. As she continued the left-hand part for Pachelbel’s _Canon in D_ , the mother-of-pearl came to life, the patterns and colors glowing and shifting with each tone. On the next sequence, Narcissa added in the right hand, still one note at a time, F-sharp, E, D…

Emboldened now, Narcissa added a slightly more complicated iteration, going up the arpeggio with the right hand while leaving the left hand the same. She continued in this same vein, her hands finding the notes and building in confidence as she played. Narcissa had been playing piano for just over a year and a half, and thus only knew a simple arrangement of the piece, but she played every variation she could think of, letting herself get lost in the music and allowing the glorious and magical sound pour over her mind. 

Narcissa built the piece to a crescendo and then let it wind down naturally, her hands moving with facility over the keys. She shifted gradually from loud to soft, from complex back to simple until she was back to playing D, B, F-sharp, G, and then finishing with a D-major chord. Narcissa kept her fingers on the keys, her right foot stretched down to the sustain pedal and let the sound fade slowly until all she could hear was her own heart. 

A slow clap emerged once more from an unlit corner of the now-silent room and Narcissa almost jumped out of her skin. _If it’s Bellatrix again…_ she thought with ire. “That was…enchanting.” A smooth, refined, male voice came out of the darkness. 

Narcissa leapt up, knowing it immediately, her face on fire. “I—I’m sorry, Mr. Malfoy. I had no right to come in here and play your piano. It was quite wrong of me,” she stammered in apology.

Abraxas Malfoy sat in an armchair with his back to a window, his figure no more than a dark silhouette. Now he stood and crossed to her, stepping into the light spilling in from the hallway. He waved away Narcissa’s discomfited _mea culpa_ with one hand. His other hand clasped a cut-glass tumbler with a finger of amber liquid in it. “You needn’t be." He stopped in front of her. “Do you know the origin of this piano, Miss Black?” he asked as if on impulse, placing a hand on its inlaid scrollwork. 

“I’m sure I don’t, sir.” 

Abraxas took a drink and grimaced. “I had it commissioned from a German wizard of unparalleled skill in piano craft as a wedding gift for my wife Laila.” He looked away from Narcissa to study the piano, tracing a scroll along its spiral with one finger. “Eberhard Frazel was his name. The piano took two years to construct and another year to enchant.” Abraxas smiled wistfully. “It became a bit of a running joke, as it happened, because all I gave Laila for our wedding was the _promise_ of the finest piano ever created by and for wizardkind. Oh, she would play the old grand piano in the small, second-floor conservatory all while teasing me mercilessly about the invisible piano that sat in this room.”

Abraxas sighed and turned his attention back to Narcissa who stood before him, hands clasped in front of her, clinging to every word. “Believe you me, I wanted her to have this piano more than anything, but we both also knew that this delicate, intricate project was Frazel’s _magnum opus_ and as such could not be rushed.” Abraxas sipped his drink again. “And so we waited. Over time, Laila became great with child…Lucius, of course. And, as it happened, the day the piano was to arrive, Laila went into labor with him.”

Abraxas looked at the instrument once more, his mouth twisted with bitterness. “I told Laila that the piano delivery could and should be put off; it was a ridiculous notion to have it delivered on the same day that she was to bring my heir into the world. Laila wouldn’t have it. ‘Please, Abraxas,’ she pleaded with me, ‘the baby’s not coming right this second and I’ve waited so long. And what better way to celebrate his life?’ So, at Laila’s insistence, the piano was indeed installed on the same day that Lucius was born.”

 _Well, that’s wonderful,_ Narcissa almost said, but something about Abraxas’ demeanor prompted her to keep her mouth shut and simply listen.

“And as Lucius made his way into the world, my Laila started slipping away, her life draining out around her as his life started.” Abraxas’ voice sounded distant and his eyes looked far past Narcissa into this remote and unbearable memory. “Lucius was born…and Laila was gone…forever.” Abraxas turned back to Narcissa again, his eyes now cold. “She never did get to play this piano. No one did.”

Narcissa felt tears slipping down her cheeks but didn’t bother to brush them away. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, sorry for playing what was clearly now a forbidden piano, sorry for the tragedy that had befallen the Malfoys, and sorry for the heartbreak and loneliness Abraxas obviously still felt. 

Abraxas seemed to notice Narcissa once again. Catching himself, he smiled slightly. “I’m frightening you, Miss Black; it is not my intention, I can assure you. And I am glad that you of all people have decided to play Laila’s piano this evening.”

“If you’ll forgive me, sir, why is that?” Narcissa wiped her face on the back of her hand. 

Abraxas raised an eyebrow. “Why, it was your own father who saved it from destruction.”

Narcissa felt a smile creeping back onto her own face. “Really?”

“Yes, Miss Black. You see, I’m afraid I behaved rather badly that day. I was beside myself with grief and anger. I had my wand out, ready to destroy this piano, as it represented all of the life that Laila would never get to live.” He sighed once more. “I was about to curse this singular, priceless instrument into a thousand pieces, my heart and my will bent on its utter annihilation…and Cygnus stopped me in the nick of time.” Abraxas shook his head. “I remember it so very clearly. He took my arm with infinite gentleness and simply said that it wasn’t what Laila would have wanted. He was right, of course and I am as glad that he stopped me that day as I am that you played music upon it this evening.” Abraxas took another drink and raised an eyebrow. “In fact,” he continued, “you have my express permission to play this piano whenever you wish it.” He dropped his tone conspiratorially. “Even Lucius does not have this privilege.” 

Narcissa now gave her smile license to fully emerge. “Thank you, sir,” she breathed. 

“You’re welcome, Miss Black. Now, go on and enjoy the party.” 

Narcissa gave the piano one more look of adoration and turned from Abraxas, before practically skipping out of the room. She could not imagine a more favorable outcome to what she had perceived as an unforgivable breach in etiquette. The entire incident simply cemented in Narcissa’s mind that she was meant to be there, that Malfoy Manor would one day be her home and that she belonged there. Her heart light, Narcissa re-joined the merry throng in the ballroom, the fact that Lucius wouldn’t dance with her no longer of the slightest concern.


	6. Ch. 17: Discoveries; Ch. 18: Laila; Ch 19: Tractus Revelio; Ch. 20: Perfect Obedience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the party in full swing, Lucius sneaks out with Robena and shows her one startling discovery only for both of them to come across a second. Druella finds Robena and fills her in about Lucius' mother, ending with a dire warning about Abraxas. Robena finally reunites with Francois, only to find him disappointingly reticent to help her. Hoping to impress the Coterie, Francois tells Abraxas entirely too much. Armed with new information, Abraxas moves definitively against Robena. 
> 
> _Druella studied the portrait with a heavy heart. The painting was romantic, idyllic, and inaccurate to an almost obscene degree. Idealized post-mortem by Abraxas, this Laila looked nothing like the Laila who had died in Malfoy Manor over a decade ago._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hoo boy, Robena does not have a very good night. 18 is another one of my favorites in the work, but 20 is one of those chapters I sort of hate myself for writing, but it had to be done. Also, fun fact: what goes down between Francois and Abraxas is a riff on an alleged Skull and Bones initiation.

SEVENTEEN: DISCOVERIES

“Enjoying yourself, Miss March?” Robena heard Lucius’ voice at her right elbow. Truthfully, she was not enjoying herself in the slightest and was mostly waiting for the Selwyns to show up so that once they did, she could break Francois away with the utmost discretion. Robena had nursed several drinks for as long as she could, all while making herself sullenly tipsy in the process. Despite Robena’s anxiety, Lucius looked at her so earnestly that she did not have the heart to admit any of this to him, not after he had advocated for her with his father at no small risk to himself. Robena forced a smile onto her face. “It’s the party of the season,” she said. _Technically not a lie,_ she told herself as she took another infinitesimal sip of her Firewhiskey on the rocks with a twist. 

Lucius beamed proudly. “But of course, Miss March. Look around you.” He gestured at the room and its festive scene.

“Believe me, I have been,” Robena muttered.

“What?” Lucius now looked back at her.

Robena smiled again. “Nothing. What about you? Have you found any promising dancing partners?”

Lucius’ smile faded. “Not as such, no.”

“Oh, come now, Lucius. Surely at least one girl must be willing to dance with the handsome and charming co-host of this glittering event.”

Lucius glared at her. “Stop it at once, Miss March. You’re embarrassing me in front of my guests.”

Robena found now that her smile was genuine. “Ah, but you didn’t answer my question.”

“Very well,” he huffed. His eyes scanned the room. “That one there in the sort of white-ish, beige-ish dress, Narcissa Black. She asked me.”

Robena followed Lucius’ line of sight. The girl in question was tall; in a few years, it was likely that people would unkindly describe her as _gangly_. A black ribbon partially drew her long, dark brunette hair back from her face with its far-off expression. She stood off by herself and swayed to the music, her mouth moving as if singing a song only she could hear. “She seems…pretty.”

Lucius snorted. “Pretty _boring_ , you mean.”

“How very discerning and cruel you are, Lucius Malfoy,” Robena chided him gently. “I’m sure she’s lovely.” 

“And _I’m_ sure you need to get your eyes checked, Miss March. If you want to see lovely, look at her sister, Andromeda.” Lucius jerked his chin at the dance floor to a girl who resembled the one that Lucius had rejected, but with her lighter brown hair falling in fetching curls against her red gown and her eyes sparkling with fun and mischief. With total abandon and absurdity, she danced with a handsome dark-haired boy wearing navy velvet dress robes. Lucius’ eyes followed them intently before he looked at Robena, an ironic smirk tugging at his mouth. “But, as you can see, she loves another.”

Robena cocked her head to the side. “Oh, I very much doubt that. I’m getting a rather brotherly/sisterly impression in watching them.”

“Oh, no, Miss March, it’s true love.” Lucius said it with such gravity that Robena held back the laugh that threatened to escape. 

She scowled in concentration instead. “Very well, Lucius. What shall we do to break them apart and destroy their union so she loves you forever?” 

Lucius gave Robena a look of disapproval. “You know that never works. You’ve told me enough stories to understand that the person who breaks up true love ends up cursed for all eternity.” After a moment, he turned to her and smiled. “But enough of all that. Would you like to see something interesting?”

“Something interesting like a trick Gobstones shot, or something interesting like a Fell Circle that will put us both in life-threatening danger from your lordly father?” Robena asked, her tone sardonic.

Lucius cut his eyes at her. “Don’t tie your broom in a knot, Miss March. It’s more like the former.” He coughed into his closed fist and Robena swore that she heard him say _probably_ as he did so. Lucius then jerked his head towards the door, indicating that he was going to sneak out and that she should follow him at a distance. 

Robena sighed, a small exhalation through her nose. She knew better than to follow Lucius, but now she was not just curious, but bored as well. Besides, if Francois arrived while she was out of the ballroom, he would probably still be there when she returned. Robena finished her drink and put it on a house-elf’s tray as she followed Lucius out. He walked casually down the hall, not trying to duck or dodge anyone so whatever he had in mind, it must not have been too illegal. 

Robena followed from about 20 paces back, watching as Lucius greeted people he met coming from other parts of the house, playing the gracious host, but never lingering for too long. As they moved further into Malfoy Manor, the people started to thin. They finally made it to the atrium with its grand staircase. The great chandelier sparkled with countless brilliant points of light, brightening the space’s typical gloom. Lucius paid it no attention, but headed for the stairs, which he took two at a time. 

Robena hurried up after him. Lucius had gotten faster since the beginning of her employment and Robena herself was wearing heels, low heels, but still was going to be slower than him no matter what. Lucius turned down the hall to the right, now heading back towards the party, but one floor above. He stopped periodically and tilted his head to one side, seeming to listen. He suddenly ducked into a large drawing room and moved to a seam in the wallpaper where Robena noticed a door cleverly hidden. 

Lucius opened it carefully and then beckoned to Robena. Robena slipped off her shoes and followed him, her toes cold on the bare marble. Lucius knelt on the floor. “Get down here and be very, very quiet,” he ordered her. Interest piqued now, and inhibitions dulled by a generous dose of alcohol, Robena did so. 

It was dark and still in the closet, the only sound the two of them breathing. After two minutes or so, Robena felt her legs starting to cramp up. “What are we waiting for?” she whispered.

“Shh!” Lucius gestured frantically. “It’s here…” He pointed out the door.

Robena squinted in the dim light. Something definitely moved about the room, something neither human, nor ghost, nor elf either. It shimmered in and out of focus and when it briefly solidified, it stood no more than a meter tall. In fact, its physicality reminded her of Abraxas’ hunting gear, and Robena felt a frisson of dread. The being slowed and stopped, revealing gray fur and long arms. It reached one of those arms out now and took a silver figurine of a fairy off a side table, turned it delicately in its paws, and then put it back.

Robena gasped. She couldn’t help it. The creature turned at the sound, revealing startled, perfectly round, preternaturally blue eyes before it vanished from sight. “It’s a demiguise!” she said to Lucius. She drew her wand. “ _Lumos._ ” The blue light revealed Lucius’ triumphant expression. 

“What did I tell you, Miss March?”

Robena looked out into the room where the demiguise had been and shook her head in wonder. “I can’t believe it. How did you--?”

“Discover it?” Lucius asked. He sat back on the floor of the closet, his forearms resting casually on his knees. Robena sat cross-legged in front of him. “Well, I always wanted a hunting outfit like my father’s and every time I mentioned it, he said, ‘catch a demiguise and then we’ll talk.’” At this, Robena felt a draft of cold air to her right side and shivered. Lucius continued, “I always thought it was, well, not a _joke_ , this is my father we’re talking about after all, but I guess...a figure of speech? But no, as usual, he was being perfectly serious. And now I can.” His smiled faded somewhat. “Assuming I can capture and kill it.”

Robena’s heart sank. Leave it to the Malfoys to obliterate anything whose destruction could give them more power. Robena covered her reaction with another smile to match the one Lucius gave her. “Can you though?” she asked. “Do you know how to do it?”

Lucius shrugged. “It’s an animal. How hard can it be?”

Robena reached out and touched Lucius’ arm. “Lucius, your father was being both literal,” she looked out into the now-empty room, “and figurative.” She turned back to Lucius. “To catch a demiguise, you need to—“

“Is everything in readiness?” A cold voice spoke now, one that did not originate from the empty drawing room, nor from Lucius or Robena, but from somewhere below them and off to Robena’s right where she had felt the draft. Reflexively, Robena Nox’d her wand. She felt to her right. She was butted up against a large trunk, but when palpating the floor with her fingers, she could feel the edge of a ventilation grate. 

Robena pointed her wand at the trunk and, as quietly could, said, “ _Locomotor._ ” The trunk lifted two inches off the floor and moved off, deeper into the closet, exposing the cast-iron grate now with light coming up as well as air. The thin beam of orange light fell on Lucius’ face, latticed with the pattern from the grate itself. Lucius once again put his finger to his lips and shifted his weight slowly so that he was directly over the grate. 

“Yes, Abraxas, perfectly ready. As soon as the Acolyte arrives, we can begin the ceremony.”

“Good. The siren is ready as well. She put up a fight, you know, when I bound her. One would think after all this time she would comply, but she never seems to learn until my blood or my Imperius puts her in her place.” Robena heard a smile in the voice she could now definitively identify as that of Abraxas Malfoy. “Although, speaking candidly, I might miss it if she _didn’t_ fight me. It certainly livens things up.” 

Both men now chuckled and Robena felt her skin crawl. She looked over at Lucius, who had his brows furrowed, not in anger but in concentration, absorbing every detail. For her part, Robena closed her eyes, her sense of _déjà vu_ almost stifling her from sanity. She concentrated too, trying hard to recall the siren’s words from her dream. _With the silencing of the siren…so shall we silence the truth…never more may it be pulled from the Acolyte’s lips… not by compulsion, not by potion, not by poison, but only through his freely given will to tell the truth._

Robena opened her eyes and felt a moment’s dizziness, likely from the alcohol. Whatever Dark Arts ritual Abraxas was planning with the siren involved other people; that much was apparent now. The implications from the conversation tantalized Robena’s mind with dozens of questions circling like hornets from a disturbed nest: who was the other man that Abraxas was talking to? Who was the Acolyte? Who else was involved? Most likely, this was some sort of secret society, one that compelled absolute containment of its practices through a ritual that—“Merlin’s beard,” Robena whispered as the parts fell into place.

Lucius gestured for her to hush, but there was no need. The voices faded and the light dimmed, plunging the two of them back into darkness. Robena waited a handful of seconds and then cast Lumos once again. Lucius’ face came back out of the inky blackness, his eyes round. “What do you make of that?” he asked.

Robena chewed her lip, feeling torn. Although she felt tremendous regard for Lucius and cherished his trust in her, after the Fell Circle, she hesitated to share all of her speculations with him, mostly for his own protection. Thus, she forced herself to detach. Robena stood. “Nothing we were meant to hear,” she said in a tone meant to brook no argument. 

Lucius stood as well and looked at her coldly. “Very well, Miss March. I beg you to forgive me for tearing you away from the party.” 

“Lucius, I—“ Robena reached for him.

Lucius turned away. “No, no. You’re absolutely correct. It wasn’t meant for us.”

Robena straightened her shoulders. “Yes, and you would do well to remember that. I imagine I needn’t remind you about what happened last time you involved yourself in your father’s affairs without his express permission.”

Lucius’ own shoulders slumped and he looked at the floor. He rubbed at his lower lip, the one Abraxas had split for him not a week before. The moment lasted for only a heartbeat, and then Lucius dropped his hand and pulled his own shoulders back, matching Robena’s look with one of haughtiness. “Mark my words, Miss March, it won’t be long before my father does involve me in his affairs, _all_ of his affairs.”

 _That’s exactly what I’m afraid of,_ Robena thought but dared not say it out loud. Her head was full with what she had seen and heard. Also, Robena knew that the sneering Lucius standing in front of her with bruised pride was not the Lucius who would actually listen to her. Robena sighed, regaining her composure once more. She inclined her head slightly. “Thank you, Lucius, for showing me your discovery. It was truly illuminating.” 

Robena picked up her shoes and left Lucius looking after her, probably unsure if she meant the demiguise, the secret grate, or both. Robena Nox’d and stowed her wand and headed back down the hall, unsure if she herself even knew. She opted to take an alternative route back to the ballroom, this one mostly on the second floor, and then down the smaller staircase at the west end of the house. Her pathway took her past the portrait gallery, where all the Malfoy ancestors hung. 

Generally, Robena avoided this room, as she was confident that not all of the past Malfoys would be civilized with someone of her blood status and she wasn't such a masochist as to invite their bile with an unnecessary visit. However, this time Robena needed at least to put her shoes back on and so she leaned against the door frame, put one shoe on and then the other. As she did, she could see something or someone in her peripheral vision and did a double take. 

The figure was a woman, probably in her early forties, but still strikingly beautiful, with a shrewd face and the seemingly permanent sneer and steel spine of a pureblooded matriarch. She wore a stunning and likely bespoke cream and black gown with red accents. A series of black jet pins caught up her plentiful dark curls and reflected the light from the fire in front of her, shining and sparkling as she turned her head towards the door. As Robena looked more closely, she noticed a resemblance between the girl that Lucius had spurned, the girl who had spurned Lucius, and this woman now. The witch regarded Robena with a calculating gaze.

“My apologies, madame, I did not know this room was occupied,” Robena said formally, kicking the back of her right heel into her shoe. 

The woman smiled with no trace of warmth and tilted her head gracefully to the side. “Your name isn’t Robena, is it?” 

_Who wants to know?_ Robena thought irritably. She had already had a bellyful of pureblood nonsense this evening, but took a deep breath, shoving it all down deep inside of her so she could act civil and thus professional with one of her employer’s guests. “Yes, my name is Robena March,” she answered, still sounding resigned to herself. “To whom do I have the honor of speaking?”

“I’m Druella Black and _I_ would speak with _you,_ if you can spare a moment.”

EIGHTEEN: LAILA

Druella had made sure that all three of her children were accounted for before trying to find this Robena person. _Four, counting Cygnus,_ she thought with her typical mix of contempt and affection where her husband was concerned. Cygnus had gone off with Abraxas, no doubt to prepare for the Coterie ritual. That, or Cygnus had found whatever male toy that Abraxas had left for him to play with. Maybe both.

Druella left Bellatrix sulking, slouched in a green-striped brocade chair on the edge of the ballroom. She had no idea what Bellatrix was sulking about, and quite frankly didn’t want to know. It was probably some row between her and Lucius. Whatever it was must not have been too serious, because Druella had seen both of them and had not witnessed any broken bones, bleeding, or even tattling. 

Andromeda danced happily with her cousin Sirius. That made Druella smile. If Andromeda was not meant for Lucius, an alliance with a first cousin wasn’t too close for comfort, and would keep the Black line clean bilaterally should it prove fruitful in the future. Narcissa, well…she was content to people watch, daydream, and just be herself. Druella didn't worry about her, particularly because Narcissa’s spirits seemed unusually high this night. In fact, ever since entering Malfoy Manor, the girl positively glowed. 

Druella had seen Robena exit and head up the grand staircase, which meant that there was at least a fifty percent chance that she would pass by the portrait gallery on her way back to the party. Even if Druella was wrong about this, it created a perfect opportunity to see Laila Malfoy once more and pay her respects. The portrait gallery was empty when Druella arrived, with a welcoming fire built up in the fireplace. Of the many Malfoy portraits within the high-ceilinged room, Laila’s was the largest and hung directly over the fireplace. 

The painting was of a bower, redolent with pale roses, the white Malfoy peacocks ambulating in the emerald grass of the background. Overhead, golden and pink clouds drifted across a twilit purple sky. Draped in cream-colored silk, Laila herself reclined on her side upon soft, ruffled cushions, her head pillowed on one arm and the other relaxed on her lightly distended abdomen. _Forever just post-partum_ , Druella thought. Laila’s flowing garments draped gracefully along the lines of her body while her wavy, white-blonde hair floated around her like a tumbling river of light. As always, Laila slept, her ruby-lipped mouth drawn up in a small smile as if dreaming about something pleasant. Her slight shoulders moved up and down gently with each breath, in and out, over and over, for all eternity.

Druella studied the portrait with a heavy heart. The painting was romantic, idyllic, and inaccurate to an almost obscene degree. Idealized post-mortem by Abraxas, this Laila looked nothing like the Laila who had died in Malfoy Manor over a decade ago. That Laila had lain in a pool of her own blood, which expanded underneath her as it colored the ends of her hair crimson and made her face the color of chalk and her nail beds and lips blue. That Laila had been too weak to hold her son on her own, but luckily the Mid-witch had assisted her to do so before it was too late. In so doing, that Laila had held Lucius only once: her final act on Merlin’s green earth before she bled to death, her tender spirit overcome by the momentous act of creating another life. 

Druella found tears slipping down her face at the memory of that awful day. “Oh Laila,” she whispered. No more would Druella say and no more did she need to. She heard footsteps coming from the hall and dashed her tears away, lest their appearance weaken her in any way. After just a moment, Robena March herself came to the doorway and leaned against the jamb as she put her shoes back on. 

Druella wondered why she had lost them in the first place; the scene she painted certainly wasn’t great optics for this young, single, base-blooded female governess. _Then again,_ Druella thought, curling her toes within her own stilettos, _if propriety dictated it, I might slip my own shoes off as well._ She dismissed the thought, as pre-judging this Muggle-born girl did not help in this instance. Druella refocused on what she was going to say, just as Robena noticed her and spoke. 

Robena’s cultured and refined voice as well as her choice of words gave appropriate deference to Druella’s station, and Druella felt a small spark of respect for her. If nothing else, she was pragmatic, intelligent, and well-versed in pureblood etiquette. Still, Robena looked around at the portraits uneasily. “You don’t care for this particular room, do you, Miss March?” Druella asked, glancing at Robena out of the corner of her eye. 

“No, it’s…splendid,” Robena’s answer was careful. “Very tastefully done, all of them. But then, I would expect nothing less, now would I?”

Druella smirked. “I wouldn’t blame you if you avoided this room, you know. Merlin only knows what these Malfoys think of you, much less what they would say to one of your kind.”

Robena looked like she wanted to say something, and Druella could have sworn the girl mouthed _your kind_ with no small amount of irony. It was clear she had some sort of ready retort, but thought better of uttering it, mashing her lips together before smiling grimly once more. 

Druella continued. “Nonetheless, at the very least, you should familiarize yourself with this one.” She gestured at Laila’s portrait. 

Robena studied the work. “It’s Lucius’ mother, isn’t it?”

“The very same.”

“He has her look.” Robena smiled. “Were you close with her, Mrs. Black?”

Druella nodded, another tear threatening to come that she blinked quickly away before it could fall. “As close as sisters. We fell pregnant at the same time, she with Lucius, and myself with my second-born Andromeda. Laila had hemophilic blood and everyone knew that the pregnancy risked much; after, some said _too_ much. Despite this, Abraxas understood that the Malfoy dynasty had to continue with an heir and Laila wanted a child more than anything in the world. Furthermore, there was nothing that Abraxas wouldn’t do for her.” Druella looked over at Robena, who was listening to every word, her eyes fixed on Laila’s sleeping form. Druella continued, now looking also at Laila. “As everyone knows, Laila died in childbirth with Lucius.” 

“Wait, what?” Robena looked at Druella quickly, her formal demeanor forgotten in her apparent surprise.

Druella raised an eyebrow. “Well, as everyone who moves in _our circle_ knows, Laila died in childbirth with Lucius.”

Robena frowned. “I knew that she died, obviously, but I didn’t know how.”

“There’s no need to get defensive, dear,” Druella said coolly. “I was merely attempting to relay some valuable information about the family you’ve agreed to serve.”

“Right,” Robena said, sighing. “Please continue, Mrs. Black.”

“Very well.” Druella took a deep breath. “Her death tore Abraxas apart and threatened to end the Malfoys completely. Laila died holding Lucius in her arms. When she did, the Mid-witch took Lucius and tried to soothe him, as by then, as you may imagine, Lucius was squalling. Abraxas realized that his wife, his beloved, was gone. So he drew his wand and cast a Killing Curse at the Mid-witch holding Lucius, his grief manifesting with immense violence and rapidity. Fortunately, my husband Cygnus was there as well and knocked Abraxas’ wand arm just in time, so his curse missed and hit the wall instead of the Mid-witch, or, Merlin forbid, Lucius himself.”

Robena’s eyes were wide, but she said nothing. 

“Anyway,” Druella said, “the day they put Laila in the ground, Abraxas changed forever. At first, he wanted nothing to do with Lucius. I had to nurse Lucius along with Andromeda initially; he even lived at our house for several weeks. He was a fretful baby, as if he already knew his very existence had created a rift in the Malfoy family. Cygnus stayed with Abraxas and spent most of his time ensuring that Abraxas didn’t destroy everything in Malfoy Manor as he raged unrelentingly against a shattered heart that threatened to consume him. 

“Finally, Abraxas started to come around, although I don’t mind telling you that it took Cygnus speaking very candidly to him about his responsibility to the Malfoy name in raising his son and now sole heir. Eventually Abraxas brought Lucius back home and hired a nurse to care for him. As for _this_ Laila,” Druella’s eyes went back to the portrait, “she was indeed awake for a time, but it was limited only to me, and eventually not even that.

“You see, she couldn’t stand to see Lucius and not be the one to hold him and care for him, nor could she stand to see Abraxas breaking apart, becoming intoxicated daily, begging her to come back, and railing against her for leaving him.” Druella shook her head. “One day Laila told me that she was going to go to sleep as wakefulness had become unbearable for her. For over ten years now she has slumbered.” Druella looked back at Robena, whose eyes were now bright as well. “And Abraxas has hardened into something wholly different than the wizard who married her.” Druella sighed. “It’s probably a mercy she didn’t stay awake to see what her husband has become.”

Robena turned to Druella now. “Why are you telling me all this, Mrs. Black?” she asked, suspicion in her voice.

Druella looked at her evenly. “To warn you, Miss March. Now, I’m not telling you this for your own sake, although I bear you no ill will. I am doing this for the sake of Laila, who I once loved as a sister, and for Lucius, of course, who is almost Andromeda’s twin by proxy. In effect, you’re Lucius’ mother now.”

Robena’s eyebrows knit. “I’m his governess, not his—“

“Oh, but you are!” Overtaken by a sudden urgency, Druella grabbed hold of Robena’s wrist. “Don’t you see that? Laila is gone! You and your predecessors are the only mothers that Lucius is ever going to know. And Abraxas is going to try and break you and you musn’t, you _musn’t_ let him do it.”

“But why should he do it? What have we ever done to him?”

“Would you like the reason he will tell you? And he _will_ tell you, mark my words, Miss March. Or can you withstand the true and deeper reason?” Druella raised one well-shaped brow. “Perhaps you already know what it is. You seem like a clever girl.” 

Robena’s jaw tightened and she looked into the fire, but she didn’t answer.

Druella let her voice drop to an intense whisper. “Abraxas will tell you that he's doing it because of your blood status. That’s what he’ll say, the excuse he will use to justify his actions to himself or anyone else in our circle. And he’ll make some noises about purity, be assured of that, Miss March. But the true reason? It’s far deeper and crueler than mere blood politics.” Druella looked at Laila's portrait. “He blames Lucius for Laila’s death still. He knows that Lucius loves you, just as he’s loved all of the governesses. So, he will break you primarily to hurt Lucius.”

Robena managed a brittle smile, but her eyes showed fear. Druella would have thought her a fool if she hadn’t been frightened. “Lucius doesn’t love me. He loves his father.”

“And these two things are mutually exclusive, Miss March?”

“Well, no, but—“

“Not only will Abraxas try and break you, he will test Lucius’ loyalty over and over again using you as a pawn. And the worst part about all of this for you is that Lucius will always choose his father, even if it means his own destruction. Or yours. The Malfoy dynasty shall prevail.” Druella could now see Robena’s chest moving up and down rapidly. Robena believed her. Good. 

“What do I do?” Robena asked. “Should I leave?”

“Well, it poses a bit of a dilemma for you, does it not? Staying carries perilous risk, as former Malfoy governesses have found out, much to their dismay.”

Robena gasped. “You know something about Georgina, don’t you, the governess that stayed the longest?” 

“All I know is that she moved back to Manchester, but I would urge you not to pursue the matter. I doubt you’ll learn anything more than what I am warning you about now. In light of that, should you resign now, I can promise you that Abraxas will see to it that you never work in the wizarding world again, to say nothing of governing within any of the Sacred 28 families. So, the answer to the question of what you should do really depends on your own loyalty, should you possess any. Do you wish to serve the Malfoy family or not, as you agreed to do when first employed here?”

Robena met Druella’s expression with her own measure of resolve. “I wish to serve Lucius’ best interests. That has always been my intention, for him and for all of my charges.”

“Then you must be strong, and you must stay and be the best governess that you can possibly be for Lucius. You won’t save him, not in the end, but if you can help him to be relatively happy and have a loving mother of a sort, you will have served him well indeed.”

“How about I just fight and defeat Abraxas and not give him the chance to break me?” Robena’s tilted her chin up and her eyes reflected the dancing flames of the fire, but Druella could tell it was little more than misplaced bravado.

Druella found herself smiling at Robena sympathetically. “My dear, it’s the Malfoys. You may fight, you may even land a curse or two, but you don’t get to win. They didn’t rise to becoming the most dominant pureblood family in wizarding history by being anything less than completely merciless.”

Robena blinked hard, as if trying to clear her head. “I—I should probably return to the party. Thank you, Mrs. Black, for your counsel.”

Druella stood up to her full height and regarded Robena sternly. “This should go without saying, Miss March, but I must nonetheless impress upon you that discretion in this matter is of the utmost importance. As far as I’m concerned, this conversation never happened.”

Robena furrowed her brows once more, even as the corner of her mouth turned up. “What conversation?”

“Good girl.” 

Robena nodded to her, gave Laila’s portrait one more wistful look and then departed the way she came. Druella turned back to Laila as well. “Rest easy, Sweet Laila. Lucius is in good hands. May your sleep by peaceful and your dreams be pleasant.” Druella touched her fingers to her lips and then stood on her tiptoes to touch them gently to Laila’s forehead before leaving her to her perpetual slumber.

NINETEEN: TRACTUS REVELIO

Robena exited the portrait gallery, her throat dry and her heart beating fast. She was inclined to believe Druella, as Druella had much more to lose than to gain in revealing such dark secrets. Abraxas would certainly see it as a betrayal and would react unpredictably were he to find out. Moreover, what Druella had said explained a lot: Abraxas’ general demeanor, his behavior towards Robena, his treatment of Lucius, and one hundred percent of the conversation about Lucius’ birthday. Now that Druella had enlightened her on this front, Robena didn’t want to know what had happened on Lucius’ prior birthdays. After what Abraxas had done to Lucius the night of the Fell Circle, she could well imagine.

It still didn’t mean that Robena knew what to do. She possessed the freedom to leave, yes, but at what cost? As Druella had mentioned, Abraxas definitely had the power and influence to ruin Robena’s life; his reach extended well beyond the yew hedges and wrought-iron gates of Malfoy Manor proper. Also, all of this was to say nothing of what might happen to Lucius. Every woman he had ever trusted and loved had abandoned him one way or another. Still, despite Druella's dire prediction where Lucius was concerned, Robena could not give him up as a lost cause, not yet. She had to try.

In her haste, Robena ran right into someone who was just about to enter the ballroom. “I’m so sorry,” Robena stammered, even as the stranger caught her arm to steady her. When she saw who it was, Robena nearly wept with relief. “Francois!” she cried. She longed to hold him and be held in return, but already eyes throughout the ballroom were on them. 

Francois dropped her like a hot salamander and stepped back. “Miss March. How pleasant to see you here.” He nodded cordially. 

“You as well,” she countered in a rushed voice. She simply had to get Francois alone as soon as possible. She needed an ally now more than ever before. “I would very much enjoy catching up with you." She spoke through gritted teeth, a rictus grin plastered on her face. 

“I should like that above all things, Miss March, but I’m afraid—“ Francois cut off, looking over Robena’s shoulder. 

Robena turned around, already predicting who she would find. Abraxas fixed Robena with a cold stare before turning his attention to Francois. He stepped next to Robena and put his hand out in greeting. “Francois, welcome." Francois glanced at Robena once more before clasping Abraxas’ hand in a manner warmer than Robena would have expected given their formality: both men took each other’s elbow with their free hand as well before letting go. 

Abraxas then tilted his head down in Robena’s direction, all while looking at Francois. “My new governess isn’t besetting you, is she Francois?”

“Not in the slightest, sir.” Francois returned Abraxas’ cold smile with a mild one of his own. “She and I are old friends.”

“Indeed.” Abraxas spoke one word only, but injected it with such knowing sarcasm that Robena blushed and looked away.

Luckily for her, Abraxas didn’t notice. Francois was more than equal to the challenge. “Yes, she was a good and loyal governess to all of my younger siblings. You could not possibly be more fortunate in your choice, sir.”

“That remains to be seen, I should think.” Abraxas raised a brow. Everyone was silent for a moment until Abraxas broke it. “Well, far be it from me to interfere with the intercourse of _old friends_.” 

“You are a most gracious host, sir,” Francois said, bowing his head slightly. Robena stifled a grin at the underhanded way that Francois both remained unfazed and told Abraxas to piss off. 

After Abraxas left, Francois gave Robena a look of incredulity, no doubt trying to make her laugh, but Robena could not relax. The pressing matter of speaking with Francois overshadowed everything else. “How are the children?” she asked loudly as she led Francois deeper into the ballroom. It would have been folly to assume that Abraxas wasn’t still observing them, but distance had to help. 

“Never better, Miss March,” Francois answered, helping himself to a champagne flute off of a house elf’s tray and taking a gulp. Robena frowned slightly. Perhaps dodging Abraxas had affected Francois more than she had originally believed. Now that she forced herself to pay attention, she noticed that Francois seemed as nervous as Robena herself felt. Two more gulps and the champagne was gone. Francois had always had a difficult time keeping his attention on one thing, but now he was positively manic, his eyes flitting from one person and thing to another. 

_To Hades with all of it,_ Robena thought. “If you’ll please pardon me, I must excuse myself to see to Lucius,” she said pointedly. She slipped around Francois, hissing in his ear as she passed, “Meet me behind the staircase in ten minutes’ time.” 

Francois raised his empty champagne glass in her direction. Robena left the ballroom first and headed directly to the stairs, skulking in the shadows and waiting. She shifted her weight back and forth and kneaded her hands together. Ten minutes took an eternity to pass by, but finally Francois approached. Robena grabbed his hand and led him through the servants’ passages, having to duck and weave around the house elves traveling to and from the kitchen. Then it was down a narrow hall, up the stairs and then finally to Robena’s room, where she pulled Francois in and slammed the door, leaning against it.

“Thank Merlin you’re here,” she breathed, pulling Francois close to her and kissing him on the mouth. She didn’t know she was going to do it until she did, with how they had left things last time, but here they were. Francois didn’t hesitate in kissing her in return, and within seconds they were essentially back to the boathouse. To Robena it seemed like an eternity ago. Before she knew it, they both lay on the bed, Francois over top of Robena, his hands and his mouth finding all the places familiar to both of them. “Oh, _gods,_ I’ve needed this,” Robena moaned as Francois kissed her neck. 

Robena moved her hand down Francois’ body, but to her surprise, he grabbed her wrist and stopped her. “We musn’t,” he whispered.

Robena scowled at him. “Whyever not?” She looked down to where her hand was about to go. “Most of you seems willing enough…” she smiled and went to kiss him once more.

“It would be wrong,” Francois said, looking away. 

“No, it most certainly would not be,” Robena argued with him, annoyed at this new-found and seemingly arbitrary prudishness.

Francois sat up. “It’s just…”

Robena propped herself up on her elbow. “Just what?” 

“It’s…too fast…after how long it’s been and everything that’s happened.” He couldn’t meet her eyes as he said it. 

Robena lay back in the bed and stared at the ceiling, fuming. 

“Hey,” Francois said gently, placing a hand on Robena’s knee. 

“Hey, what?” Robena answered him grumpily. Nothing seemed to be going right this evening. 

Francois smiled at her and pushed her knee out to the side. Robena returned his smile with a grudging one of her own, knowing what he had in mind. “How do you find anything in all of this?” Francois muttered, pushing the yards of chiffon up over Robena’s thighs. Robena laughed and shimmied out of her underwear, before assisting Francois in his task. “Ah, there we are.” Francois moved his head down. 

Robena could never say that Francois was ungenerous, an attribute she supported with full-throated appreciation, her fingers wound in his curly hair as he mitigated her tension in his most—well, second-most--enjoyable way. When he finished to Robena’s immense satisfaction, Robena put on her underwear and straightened her dress. Francois rolled up on his side, propping his head in his hand. “That is a nice frock, though,” he said. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you wear it. You look quite pretty.” 

Robena smirked. “It belongs to the boss."

Francois sat up, his eyes narrowed. “Wait. Abraxas gave you that dress?”

“Yes.” Robena rolled her eyes. “I mean, he _leant it_ ; it’s certainly not mine to keep. Apparently, none of my own garments would suit for this occasion. Why? What’s the problem?” 

Francois paused for a moment before shaking his head. “Nothing. It’s nothing.” He smiled at her. “It looks great. He has good taste, does old Abraxas.” 

“He certainly does. Just ask him.” Robena finished smoothing down the dress in question and turned her attention back to Francois. “And speaking of whom, there is much I would talk to you about.” Francois chewed his lip, his eyes once more on Robena’s figure. Robena snapped her fingers in front of his eyes. “Hey. Would you stop? Surely I’ve looked pretty before, but can you please pay attention, Francois?”

Francois smiled at her suddenly. “We shall have to make it very quick, lest certain people miss both of us. I mean, if my myopic mother could put two and two together, so can others.” 

“Fine,” Robena said through a clenched jaw. “Then I shall distill it to the most basic of my needs.”

Francois’ smile turned into a grin. “Didn’t I just fulfill the most basic of your—“

“Focus!”

“Right, sorry, sorry…” Francois sat up in the bed and put his chin in his hands, looking at Robena expectantly. “What did you need?”

“I need you to identify some footprints in the greatest detail that you possibly can.”

Francois spread his hands now. “I am at your service, my lady. Where are these footprints?” 

Robena looked down at the floor. “I saw them right here, and then they continue around to the other side of the bed. I know whose they are, but I need to know the exact circumstances.”

Francois stood and drew his wand. “Anything for you,” he said gallantly before walking around the bed and pointing his wand at the floor. “ _Tractus Revelio Maxima_.” The footprints once again glowed blue. Francois closed his eyes and Robena knew that he was visualizing their creation. As the events unfolded for him, Robena watched his mouth open, a red flush creep onto his face, and his shoulders tense for a pregnant moment before slumping, a breath that he had been holding coming out in a sigh. 

Francois remained motionless for a moment, his wand still clasped in his hand before he opened his eyes and looked at Robena. “Well?” Robena asked. “What did you see?”

Francois closed his eyes once more, squeezing them tight this time and turning his head away as if trying to banish the recent memory. He opened them once again. “Nothing. I saw nothing whatsoever.” His voice sounded dull. 

Robena wanted to shake him. “What do you mean? Even I can see the two sets of footprints, the shapes that they make. Look,” she said, pointing at the floor where they still glowed blue. “Two larger ones, in shoes, placed just inside of two smaller ones with feet bare, all toes facing the bed. You…” she laughed mirthlessly. “I know from experience that you’re familiar with that footprint configuration even without casting a single magical spell.”

Francois’ tone cooled significantly. “Then perhaps you should draw your own conclusions and not ask questions that can get you fired...or worse.” He then softened a bit at Robena’s stricken face. “You were already asked to leave one Sacred 28 house. Do you really want to risk that again?” 

Robena felt her eyes prick with tears, not tears of sadness, but of anger, frustration, and the beginnings of betrayal, all echoes of her last meeting with Francois prior to her departure from Selwyn Close. He had been her last hope and now that he was here, he was letting her down utterly. In her deteriorating mood, Robena could have easily picked another entire fight with Francois, but then wondered what the point was. “Just…go,” she finally said. 

“Yes, I had better do that,” Francois muttered. “I’m only asking you to be careful, Robena, and for the love of Merlin, let this one lie.” He touched her gently on the arm before leaving, closing the door behind him. 

Robena looked at the closed door and then back at the footprints. Francois was not telling her everything; in fact, he wasn’t telling her _anything_. As fed up as she was with him, Robena knew she could not give up. She counted to ten silently and then walked out the door. She went back to the ballroom and slipped in as unobtrusively as she could, all the while keeping her eye on Francois. 

Once again, Abraxas cornered him, but only for a moment, as now they were leaving together. Robena followed them out, keeping to the shadows. They headed in the direction of Abraxas’ office. Indeed, to Robena’s vexation, she saw them slip in and Abraxas close the door, looking down the hallway for intruders before he did so. _Damn it,_ Robena thought, _If only I could be a fly on the wall, I could hear every single--_ “That’s it,” she whispered in sudden recollection. Silently thanking Lucius, she once again slipped her shoes off and headed up the stairs to the room in which she and Lucius had seen the demiguise. As before, the room was dark and empty. Robena opened the hidden closet and crept in, settling next to the grate. 

“—know what comes next,” Abraxas was saying. “But be at ease, this shall be the last time Veritaserum can ever pry the truth from your lips. So, drink, Acolyte, in perfect obedience and perfect trust.”

“My will is to obey, Archon.” Robena stifled a gasp at Francois’ voice. There was a pause, presumably so Francois could drink whatever beverage Abraxas had laced with Veritaserum.

“Now,” Abraxas said, his voice full of vindictive triumph, “Tell me about Robena March.” 

TWENTY: PERFECT OBEDIENCE

“I don’t know if I should tell you about Robena.” Francois' voice sounded strangled, as the Veritaserum battled with his will to at least pretend to be a decent human being and a gentleman. 

There was a pause. Finally, Abraxas spoke. “Very well, Francois.” Not _Acolyte,_ not _Initiate,_ just his name, spoken in the pure detachment meant to convey to Francois that his disloyalty meant nothing to Abraxas. “You are free to go.” Robena let out a muted sigh of relief and relaxed her tensed shoulders. 

Another pause. “That’s all?” Francois sounded confused, even as Robena heard the slight creak of furniture shifting as he stood.

“Yes, that’s all.” Again Abraxas used that light, deceptive tone.

“What about…ah, what about my initiation?”

Robena could now hear the crystalline sound of ice cubes falling into a tumbler and the genteel burble of fine liquor being poured out. “What do you think?” Abraxas said. “In your infinite cleverness, what do _you_ believe shall happen when you pass out of that door?”

“I fail?” 

Another gentle clink of ice, a sip, and then a sigh of satisfaction. “Well, you just promised to engage in the next step of your initiation with perfect trust and perfect obedience. You then proceeded to tread thoughtlessly on those two qualities not five seconds later. Do you think that bodes well for your future with the Coterie, young Master Selwyn?”

“Erm…”

“Now, you may still leave if you wish. You have sworn to nothing binding. That part comes later. But your journey shall be at an end and the Coterie of Oberon shall be barred to you and your line for all eternity. If you believe that keeping your brief dalliance with the filthy-blooded but oh-so-willing Miss March sacrosanct is worth all that, as I said, there’s the door.”

 _Run, Francois,_ Robena begged him fervently. _For once in your life, grow a backbone and get away._

The silence lasted longer. Finally, Robena heard the creak of furniture once again.

“Smart lad,” Abraxas said. Robena felt her whole body sink in despair. She debated whether or not she should even stick around to hear what Francois had to say about her. Another creak in the furniture sounded, which no doubt was Abraxas settling in with his drink and his complete lack of scruples. 

“Sir, I can…I can _trust_ you, can’t I?” Robena wondered if Francois always sounded this wheedling and naïve or if she was noticing it for the first time. 

Abraxas actually chuckled at that as he took another drink. “Of course you can. One of our vows is the Oath of Support. I wouldn’t do anything that doesn’t support the Coterie, its mission, and its members.” 

“What about Robena?”

“What about Miss March?”

“You—you won’t use any of this information _against_ her, will you?”

“Don’t fret. I won’t use any of what you tell me in a manner of which she is undeserving. Besides, this exercise is about you, not her, and the crucial matter of whether or not we can trust you and vice versa: nothing more and nothing less.”

Francois let out a sigh of apparent relief. Robena knew that he was telling himself that he believed what Abraxas was saying, if only to rationalize that betraying Robena served some greater cause and that Abraxas was somehow on his side. _Maybe he truly is,_ Robena thought morosely. _Maybe it is_ I _who have been lying to myself this entire time._

Francois took a deep breath. “Our family employed Robena March for several years, ending only this autumn past. She served our family faithfully and gave my younger siblings lessons in the standard fare: history, elocution, piano, French, and mathematics. My younger siblings doted on her and were most sorry to see her leave.”

Abraxas sighed in annoyance. “Yes, Acolyte, I gathered all of this from her resume. What about you and her?” 

“We were quite fond of each other as well. I, too, was sorry to see her go.” It was clear that Francois was still only telling Abraxas the bare minimum of truth, that he didn’t truly wish to betray her. Robena knew that because of the magic powering Veritaserum, Francois would be able to get away with it up to a point. However, she also knew that the point could be surpassed easily if Abraxas asked the right questions. He did not let her down.

“I see.” Abraxas made it obvious through his tone that he knew full well that Francois was dissembling. “Your sentiments are quite precious, particularly in light of Miss March’s blood status. Unfortunately, if you keep defending her, I shall have no choice but to think once again that you are not sincere in taking your place in the Coterie with your pureblood fellows. Oh, you may be dodging me now, but if you complete the initiation and become a full member, you may hide nothing from us, hence the Oath of Honesty you shall undertake in a short time. So, let’s try this again: were you lovers?”

“Yes.” 

“Did you love her then and do you love her still?” 

That was Abraxas’ most dangerous question thus far and Francois knew it. To Robena’s gratification, Francois fought it; she could hear the small sounds of distress as he tried to keep the words from escaping. 

“On second thought, you don’t have to answer that question, Francois,” Abraxas said, to Robena’s surprise and probably to Francois’ as well. 

“I don’t?” Francois sounded short of breath. Perhaps he wasn’t as faint-hearted as Robena initially thought, or perhaps his non-answer was confirmation enough for someone as savvy as Abraxas.

“No, I daresay you already have,” Abraxas said, confirming Robena’s suspicions.

“Oh.” Francois sounded defeated, yet relieved that his part might be over. Robena suspected that it was just beginning.

“However, you will have to answer some more detailed and… _explicit_ questions about Miss March and her…inclinations.” Robena could hear the smile in Abraxas’ voice and felt her heart speed up. “Once again, the choice is yours, Francois. Her…or us.” 

_He means Muggle-born versus pureblood, always,_ Robena thought grimly.

Francois took a deep breath once more. When he spoke again, his speech was pressured as if the faster he got it out, the easier it would be. “I had never met a more responsive witch in my life. She was so eager and so grateful for everything that I would give her…her own generosity was unparalleled, her appetites insatiable, once a day, twice a day, at least in the beginning…” 

_Shut up, shut up, shut up!_ Robena thought, in a panic. If only she could create a diversion, keep Francois from giving ammunition to a man who was going to try and _break her,_ as Druella Black had said. Robena knew she should have left, as every word that Francois spoke felt like she was standing in a crowded room as Francois removed one piece of her clothing at a time, leaving her naked and vulnerable. 

But no, Robena made herself stay and absorb every statement Francois made about her, every intimate secret he had discovered about her body, how it responded to him, how she coaxed forth his pleasure, all of it to Abraxas’ lascivious amusement. Robena couldn’t even say that Abraxas extracted it from him. Yes, he was using Veritaserum, but he had also given Francois multiple chances to escape. In the end, participating had been Francois’ choice.

After hearing Robena’s sexual proclivities described in excruciating detail, Abraxas finally relented. “Lastly, what did you do to her tonight?” he asked.

“I gave her oral pleasure.”

“How very charitable of you. But the point remains: you saved yourself and your seed for the ritual, I take it?” 

“Of course, even though she begged me for it.” Now it seemed that Francois was getting into it, which disgusted Robena. Then again, regaling Abraxas with his sexual exploits likely fed Francois’ ego. Also, Merlin only knew how much alcohol Francois now had on board. 

“No doubt,” Abraxas concluded wryly. “Very well, Acolyte. Go and prepare yourself for the ritual. I and the rest of the brotherhood shall join you presently.” 

Robena had heard enough. With a heavy heart, she stood in the closet, placed her hands palm-down on the flat of her back and leaned back, feeling several vertebrae pop. She yawned. Although she had no idea what time it was, she just wanted to go to bed and forget the entire evening. Robena traipsed through the darkened room and down the hall, not even bothering to put her shoes back on. She found that she didn’t even have the energy to say goodnight to Lucius or see if any of the other Selwyn children were around. 

Robena finally made it back to her own room, tossed her shoes into a corner and closed the door. A fire was already made up in the grate and it made Robena feel relaxed for the first time this evening. _Well, perhaps the second time,_ Robena admitted to herself, thinking about what she had done with Francois. Pulling forth the memory reminded Robena about his betrayal though, so she diverted her thoughts to how she was going to get her dress off by herself.

After a few minutes’ struggle, she realized she needed Bonnsie. Robena performed the wandwork and then heard the familiar knock on the door. “Come in, Bonnsie,” she called. Bonnsie opened the door and came in. Robena smiled at her, sat down, and turned around so she faced away from her. “I just need your help unzipping, please, and then you may go.” 

“Very good, miss.” Bonnsie unzipped the gown. “Will there be anything else?” She sounded more subdued than usual. 

“No, Bonnsie, thank you.” 

“Yes, miss. Good night.” 

Robena heard the door close. She stood up and pulled the gown over her head. Once again, as it passed her ears, Robena thought she could hear voices. _I must be more tired than I believed_ , Robena thought, _Unless…_ There was something strange about it, between the unexpected noises and Francois’ suspicious reaction to the fact that Abraxas had given it to her. Robena didn’t think that Abraxas would stoop so low as to cast a curse on the dress, but every day seemed to expose a new level of depravity and viciousness on his part. There was only one way to find out and that was through a Specialis Revelio charm. Robena drew her wand resolutely.

“ _Expelliarmus._ ” 

Robena cried out in shock as her wand flew out of her hand before she had a chance to cast anything. She whipped around and there he was. Robena had expected Abraxas to move quickly after everything that had happened, but not this quickly.

She immediately crossed her hands over her bare chest and glared at him with as much ire as she could muster. “Get. Out. Of. My. Room.”

Abraxas let a look of mild confusion cross his features. “I beg your pardon? Whose room? This is my house, is it not? This room…” He looked around before his eyes found Robena again. “…and everything in it.”

“You let it for my use and presumably for my privacy. I insist that you leave at once.” Robena put all of her effort into keeping her voice steady although every other part of her was almost paralyzed with fear.

Abraxas smiled at her. “Oh, Miss March, you’re going to have to work far harder than that to convince me that it’s truly what you want.”

“I’ll bet I could convince you if I had my wand.”

Abraxas’ smile didn’t waver. “So much defiance, or perhaps I should say, denial.” He moved closer to her, wand still drawn. “Despite your rather presumptuous request, I have recently learned just how much you enjoy sharing yourself with pureblood wizards.” 

Robena shook her head firmly, but there was no point in denying what she had done with Francois now. “You have it backwards. I liked ‘sharing myself’ with _one_ wizard who happened to be a pureblood. And it was because he was kind to me, an ally in an otherwise hostile environment.” Robena spat the last two words at Abraxas.

Abraxas’ eyebrow lifted. “An ally, you say? That’s quite a remarkable claim, considering that same ‘ally’ laid all of your wanton behavior bare to me not ten minutes ago.” His eyes now swept Robena’s body. 

_Under the compulsion of Veritaserum,_ Robena desperately wanted to point out, but knew how dangerous that would be. Instead, she clamped her lips shut.

“Ah, but you needn’t take _my_ word for it,” Abraxas said softly. He turned to the gown, discarded on the chair and picked it up in one hand. He held his wand over it with the other. “ _Insussuro Furtivus,_ ” 

The gems worked into the dress glowed and winked as the spell took effect. Bits and snatches of conversation and laughter started coming out and then Robena heard her own voice: _It’s the party of the season…How very discerning and cruel you are, Lucius Malfoy…To whom do I have the honor of speaking…what happened last time you involved yourself in your father’s affairs…meet me behind the staircase in ten minutes’ time…Oh,_ gods, _I’ve needed this,_ followed to Robena’s horror by her own very private sounds of ecstasy as Francois pleasured her. 

Robena swallowed against a throat now as dry as a desert. Francois and Abraxas had exposed her on every possible level. There was no way this evening could get worse. “The dress,” she said, “You Whisper-Cursed it.” 

“So you see, Miss March, you betrayed yourself as well,” Abraxas replied smugly. He put the dress back and turned back to Robena. “And I have it on good authority that you begged for the ministrations of young Master Selwyn, which he sadly could not bestow upon you. But luckily for you, I can and I will, so now there’s only one thing left to do.” Abraxas closed the distance between them. Robena backed away until the back of her legs hit the bed. Although she knew there was nowhere to go, she bolted around the other side, her bare feet slapping the floor boards as Abraxas inexorably followed her in his expensive shoes. 

Abraxas caught her in seconds. In the end, she didn’t fight him. Not this time. It was a data point, nothing more, to see what would occur if she let it happen. If she wasn’t going to let Abraxas break her, she could view this incident no other way. Nor could she fight him, even if she had the will to do so; he could easily overpower her physically. Also, he could do it magically this time around, as he had disarmed her of her wand first thing. That part was likely payback for her doing the same thing to him in his office. Robena felt herself detach, as she floated above herself and watched these ancient patterns of non-magical power emerge. In fact, Present Abraxas and Robena duplicated Past Abraxas and Georgina’s footprints exactly in their abhorrent dance.

The only defense Robena had now was letting Abraxas’ words slide over her without penetrating, as he did what he wanted to her body. Druella was spot on about that part. Abraxas was injecting Robena with sorely-needed purity. She was desperate for it, just as all Mudbloods were. Francois had merely readied her for him, a favor from one pureblood wizard to another. On and on. In a strange way, the Selwyns and every other Sacred 28 family that had ever treated Robena with contempt actually helped. The armor built up from years of withstanding their prejudice made Abraxas’ hateful language seem inevitable, but predictable and thus, tolerable. 

_Tolerable,_ Robena thought, _But never acceptable._ As Abraxas raped her, Robena thought back to her conversation with Druella. She allowed Druella’s words to become a mantra that she focused her mind on, _don’t let him break you…don’t let him break you._ Strangely, also, her treatment at Abraxas’ hands somehow didn't feel as devastating as Francois’ cowardly betrayal of her earlier in the evening. That had been painful and humiliating in a completely different way, much worse because she had loved him and trusted him at one point. As far as her undoing this evening, Francois was equally culpable, a once and future cog in the supremacist machine that allowed it to happen. 

All this crossed Robena’s mind as she lay face-down on the bed, her fingers clenched around sheets still loose from her tryst with Francois. Her head was turned to the side so she could breathe. Her nose was full of the scent of fresh laundry detergent. Bonnsie must have changed her sheets today. Of course, in light of her current situation Robena couldn’t help but wonder if Abraxas had requested the clean sheets and the fire as well, knowing what would later happen. By now, Robena knew that he was not above that kind of pre-meditation. 

After an age, Abraxas finally spent himself, his fingers gripping Robena’s hips hard enough that she pulled her breath in through her teeth. Abraxas then let go and backed away from her. Robena unclenched her own fingers and pushed herself slowly up. She gathered the sheet from the bed and, with shaking hands, used it to cover herself before turning around. “That had better be the last time you ever do that,” she said. Even though she meant it, Robena knew that having been thoroughly used by Abraxas and now confronting him wearing nothing but a bedsheet, all while disarmed of her wand, made for pretty weak intimidation.

Abraxas looked up at her from where he attended his trousers, as unimpressed as Robena surmised he would be. “I don’t see any terribly compelling reason why,” he countered. “You’re here now. If you were going to leave, as I said, you would have done so the night you told me about Lucius and the Fell Circle. And because you’re here, and you’ve proven yourself to be more or less satisfactory, I shall expect this of you as another one of your duties.” 

Robena glared at him. “No, that was _never_ part of the arrangement.”

Abraxas shrugged. “It certainly seemed to be part of the arrangement for the Selwyns. I hardly think I deserve less than _they_ do.”

”I’ve already told you about that.” Robena looked at him with incredulity. “Wait--is _that_ why you hired me?”

“I hired you because you came highly recommended, to a degree I didn’t fully appreciate until moments ago, I’ll have you know.” 

Robena shifted and leaned against the bed, not fully trusting her legs. “Well, if you’re planning on making a habit of taking me without my consent, I’m not going to make it so easy for you next time.”

Abraxas’ smile faded, leaving nothing but the ice that always lay just beneath the surface. “Are you threatening me, Miss March?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “I do hope you’re aware that as I was standing behind you just now, two options presented themselves to me. For my part, I think most witches would agree that I selected the far more merciful one. Continue with these ineffectual attempts to intimidate me, and I might make another choice next time.” He dropped his voice to a whisper. “Just something to bear in mind.”

Robena’s heart dropped as she realized just how hopelessly outmatched she was, at least this night. What was it Druella had said? _You don’t get to win,_ that was it. “Are you going to Obliviate me, sir?” Robena finally asked, the fight gone out of her once and for all.

Abraxas smiled. “Oh no, Miss March, that would rather defeat the purpose.” He moved towards the door, taking the cursed dress on his way and draping it over an arm.

“But, aren’t you afraid I might tell someone?”

Abraxas paused, his hand on the doorknob. He turned to her, his eyes cold. “Not in the slightest. Tell whomever you wish. They won’t believe you. Or, if they do believe you, they won’t bestir themselves to do anything about it. After what happened with the Selwyns, there are many who would believe, quite correctly, that you asked for it. Therefore, shout it from the rooftops if you must. It’s of no consequence to me.” With that, Abraxas pulled the door open and exited, before closing it behind him, all while not sparing Robena even a backwards glance.

END PART I


	7. Ch. 21: Morning After; Ch. 22: Clever Girl; Ch. 23: The Captive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius notices that Robena is not as enthusiastic about the outcome of the party as he is. Lucius confesses to Abraxas about the demiguise in Malfoy Manor, seeking his advice in how to catch it. Robena asks for more time off for the Christmas holiday with the clandestine plan of seeking out Georgina, a request that Abraxas unexpectedly grants. Later that night, Robena teaches Abraxas the consequences of his behavior towards her. Prior to leaving Malfoy Manor for the holidays, Robena uncovers a tantalizing secret. 
> 
> _“I told you I didn’t want to,” Robena said. “That it wasn’t going to happen again. Do you have any recollection of my saying that to you?” She smiled at Abraxas. “I can see that you’re upset with me, but I think we can both agree that you brought this on yourself.”_

PART II 

TWENTY-ONE: MORNING AFTER

Lucius woke the morning following the party in good spirits. He sat in the library as usual, awaiting Robena and basking in the winter sunlight streaming through the windows. Lucius wasn’t even pretending to read, just enjoying a moment’s reflection prior to the start of his day. Aside from being cast aside by Andromeda Black, he had thoroughly enjoyed the previous evening. Also, he couldn’t believe his good fortune with the demiguise. It was simply unbelievable that one was running amok in Malfoy Manor, although its presence did indeed raise some questions.

Lucius stood and drifted over to the shelves, looking for a book on magical creatures. The biggest question was where the demiguise had come from. Demiguises weren’t native to Britain, of that Lucius was sure. But he also didn’t know what their country of origin actually was. In fact, there was a lot about demiguises that he didn’t know at all. Lucius ran a finger over the spines of the myriad of burnt umber, red, and brown leather books that comprised the lavish library of Malfoy Manor. It was the third-largest privately-held wizarding library in England, or so Abraxas had told him. Surely there would be some book or other about the demiguise. 

Finding the volume he was looking for, Lucius selected it and pulled it down: celebrated magizoologist Newt Scamander’s seminal _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them._ Lucius took the book over to the bay window with its abundant sunshine and inviting velvet cushion. He put his feet up and reclined, watching golden dust motes drift through the shafts of light. During his tutorials with Robena, she never let him read there, believing that his poor posture while seated as such was not conducive to learning. It was a ridiculous notion, but Lucius didn’t feel the fight was worth his energy, and so had conceded the point to Robena long prior. 

Lucius opened the book but then frowned with sudden realization. Where was Robena? It was 9:15, and Robena was never late. Perhaps she had had a late night and was suffering the sort of ill effects that grown-ups did after such. On the other hand, Lucius hadn’t seen her after he had shown her the demiguise, and that hadn’t been so very late into the evening. Granted, Lucius had been entertaining himself with his own peers and hadn’t specifically been looking for Robena, but felt that he would have noticed her returning to the ballroom. Nor had she said good night to him, which, while not rude necessarily, was somewhat unusual. 

Lucius decided not to fret about it this moment and simply to take advantage of his solitude. He flipped to the index and found the page regarding the demiguise. It was native to Asia, so he was right about it not being from England at the very least. He read on a bit, about how its vision was probability-based in addition to the fact that it could turn invisible at will. His heart sank. This was what Robena had been talking about. Catching the demiguise would rely on Lucius’ unpredictability, so capture was going to be very difficult if not impossible. Lucius laid the book face down on his chest and tilted his head to the side, staring morosely out of the window, his good mood evaporated. 

It was in this moment that Robena arrived. “You’re late,” Lucius greeted her, while still looking out the window. The snow had continued through the night, blanketing each of the boxwood spheres with its own cap of fluffy white in stark contrast to the evergreen leaves. 

“Apologies.” Robena's voice was quiet, muffled almost.

Lucius turned to her, surprised. Usually, Robena would have a snappy comeback and they would start the day by sparring with good cheer before settling into their educational routine. Lucius made himself really look at her, as his father had taught him, noticing every detail. She wore a green plaid skirt and a black blouse, her hair was in her typical two French braids, and she wore sensible black loafers on her feet. Nothing stood out about her.

She looked like Robena, but something was different, _everything_ was different. Her eyes carried a haunted, faraway look, and the late night had painted purple circles underneath them. She walked slowly, her shoulders slightly hunched forward, as if she had just lost at Gobstones. When she came to the table and pulled a chair out, she gripped the arm rests until her knuckles turned pale, lowering herself down gently and tensing her shoulders as she actually sat. When she went to organize the books, her hands carried the faintest resting tremor. She finally turned to Lucius. “Are you ready?” she asked in that same quiet voice.

“Yes.” Lucius stood and moved to join her. He sat to her left, his back now to the windows. “Miss March, are you ill?” he asked.

Robena smiled at him, but the smile never made it up to her eyes. “No, Lucius. It was just a late night is all. I thank you for your concern.”

“Well,” Lucius said bracingly, “I thought that the party was a resounding success. Wouldn't you agree?” 

Robena laughed, but it was high-pitched and strange. “Forgive me. Yes, it _was_ a success, a massive, unequivocal win for the Malfoys.”

Lucius beamed at her. “My thoughts exactly, Miss March.” 

Robena gestured to _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them._ “What are you reading?” 

“Oh, this.” Lucius opened the book back up again, laid it flat on the table and turned it on the diagonal so that they could both see it. 

Robena’s eyebrows lifted. “A sudden interest in the demiguise, is it? We never did get to finish our conversation about that, did we?” 

Lucius suddenly remembered back to how he had left things with her and felt deflated a bit. “I didn’t mean to be so rude, Miss March,” he said. “I just—“ He fiddled with the edges of the pages of the book before looking at her. “I just get tired of being cut out of everything and feeling like I have no control over what is happening.” 

Robena softened. “I know, Lucius. But I meant every word that I said. Your father…” her eyes carried the haunted look once more before she regained her composure. Maddeningly, the sequence reminded Lucius of Georgina, but he couldn’t place why. “You were right that you will eventually be involved in his dealings. However, it is not my place to speculate what that might involve. My interference with the Fell Circle taught me that.”

Lucius narrowed his eyes at her. Robena had broken their unspoken pact not to speak of that particular incident. After a moment, Lucius sighed and opted to change tack. “I do feel bad though,” he said, staring at the table.

“What do you feel bad about?”

Lucius arranged his features into a look of distress. “I mean…” He looked away. “You know what? Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

Robena touched his arm. “It matters to me, Lucius. What is it you feel bad about?”

Lucius looked at her with all the loving trust he could muster. “That siren. It sounds like father might be, I don’t know… _hurting_ her, or something. That is…it seemed like you had some idea about what might be going on…and if there’s something that you know, wouldn’t you say we have a responsibility to do the right thing and try and help?” He let his expression turn to one of openness.

Robena drew her arm back and fixed him with a dead-eyed stare. “Are you finished?” 

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Robena smirked. “Nice try, Lucius.” 

Lucius held his quizzical expression for another moment, but Robena wasn’t buying what he was selling. She was getting to know him too well for that. Lucius finally sighed in disgust. “Fine,” he snapped, dropping the pretense. “But you _do_ have a theory; don’t try and deny it.”

“He’s _your_ father, you go and ask him,” Robena said loftily.

“You know I can’t do that.”

“And why is that?” 

“Because father would _kill_ me if he knew I was spying on him.” 

“Kill the sole heir to his own empire? I very much doubt that…”

“So glad you’re enjoying this, Miss March." 

Robena’s grin faded, replaced by a look of utter seriousness. “Listen to me closely, Lucius. What happened with the Fell Circle, why you won’t speak to your father about this…even if I have theories about the siren, none of it matters. I’ll not place myself between you and your father again, unless I deem it an absolute emergency. As we’ve both learned, doing so puts you in an unacceptable amount of danger and if I am the one placing you in that position, I am failing at being your governess.” She turned back to the book, letting Lucius know the subject was closed. “Now, let’s see what you know about the demiguise…”

The rest of the day passed without incident and Lucius thought long and hard about what Robena had said. After dinner, his father summoned him. Lucius’ heart beat fast as he made his way down the hall to the small drawing room, wondering if his father somehow knew that he and Robena had overheard his private conversation. On the threshold of the drawing room, Lucius took a deep breath. _Stop it,_ he told himself, _It was unintentional and there’s no way he could have found out._

Unusually, Abraxas had beaten him there and was already seated in front of the fire, drink in hand, waiting. “Close the door, Lucius,” Abraxas greeted him. Lucius complied before coming over to the couch and sitting opposite Abraxas. The first thing that Lucius noticed was something draped over the arm of the couch next to Abraxas, some sort of green garment that Lucius could not readily identify. “How did you enjoy the party?” Abraxas asked.

Lucius gave his father a tiny smile. “I enjoyed it very much, father, and thought it went splendidly. You?”

Abraxas returned his smile. “I would have to agree. I’m not sure how it could have possibly gone better.” His smile faded. “However, there is one thing that is marring my satisfaction, a small but vexing detail. In point of fact, Lucius, I could use your help.”

Lucius felt his eyebrows lift. “My help, father?”

“Indeed.” Abraxas turned and retrieved the garment next to him, laying it on his lap. 

“Isn’t that Miss March’s dress?” Lucius frowned, wondering why his father had brought it.

“No, it’s not; it’s merely that which I requested she wear to the party. It’s also a tool, as you’re about to learn.” Abraxas drew his wand. “ _Insussuro Furtivus._ ”

To Lucius’ surprise, the dress came alive with light and magic and he heard Robena’s voice coming out of it: _Nothing we were meant to hear… I imagine I needn’t remind you about what happened last time you involved yourself in your father’s affairs without his express permission._ Lucius’ stomach dropped. “What is that spell?” he asked, if for no other reason than to cover his nervousness and buy himself some time.

Abraxas turned the dress over in his hands, fingers caressing the soft velvet bodice. “It’s a Whisper Curse. It lets the caster hear every utterance the wearer makes from the moment she puts it on…” his mouth turned up in a cruel smile, “To the moment she removes it.” 

“Why would you do that to Miss March?” Lucius tried hard to keep any semblance of reproach out of his voice, but he just couldn’t fathom the grudge his father bore Robena, aside from her blood status. Even that was hard for Lucius to believe, that something that wasn’t her fault fueled this arbitrary hostility. 

Abraxas turned his gaze to Lucius. “I wanted to see what she might say about us to others in a more public forum.” He let his smile mellow to a mild one. “Just as a precaution.” His look turned serious again. “But we’re getting away from the point of what I want from you. Now, I have interrogated this garment at length and what I can’t seem to get my head around is the meaning of these few statements.” He stroked the chiffon skirt with the back of his hand, making the different shades of green emerge. “Clearly, Miss March spoke these words to you, and as such, I put it to you to elaborate on their meaning.” 

_Think quickly,_ Lucius thought in a panic. 

“Lucius, I’m waiting.” 

_All right, faster than that. Come on, Lucius. If you tell him more about the siren, he will make sure no one ever finds your body. Or Miss March’s._ “There’s a demiguise on the loose!” Lucius blurted out. It was the first thing that came to his mind. He cringed, knowing full well his father would see it for the diversion and deliberate non-answer that it was.

Abraxas’ eyebrows flew up. “What?” 

Lucius was shocked that for perhaps the first time in his life, he had caught his father off guard. Now he had no choice not but to run with it. “It’s true, father. I had seen it earlier in the evening, as I was getting ready, but had myself convinced that it couldn’t possibly be that. I mean, honestly, a demiguise loose in Malfoy Manor?” His words came out in a tumble, but he could see the cauldron stirring behind Abraxas’ eyes as he tried to make sense of what Lucius was saying. “But I swear I saw it in the upstairs drawing room.”

Comprehension dawned on Abraxas’ face. “And you overheard me speaking with Humphrey McNair about its shipment to our house and shared this information with Miss March, who wisely told you to mind your own affairs.” 

Lucius felt his entire being sink in relief, but put all his effort into not showing it. He didn’t even have to fabricate the story; his father was doing all of the work. All Lucius had to do was agree. _Careful,_ he warned himself, _Don’t seem too excited and ruin it._ He put on his best sober face, even looked down at his hands. “Yes, father. It was wrong of me to eavesdrop, but, as I say, I was so terribly excited.” 

Abraxas sighed. “Well, because the secret is out, I suppose I can tell you fully. The demiguise was meant as a Yule gift for you, Lucius.”

“For me?” 

“Yes, for you to have your very own hunting outfit.”

Lucius could hardly contain his joy. This was turning out far better than he could have hoped. Still, he kept his face schooled gravely. “Thank you, father. You do me great honor.”

“Don’t thank me yet, Lucius. You can’t have demiguise camouflage if you don’t have a demiguise. They are almost impossible to catch, you know.” 

Lucius looked shyly at Abraxas. “If you please, father, how did _you_ do it?”

Abraxas shook his head. “I’ll not tell you that as doing so would completely circumvent the lesson inherent in this task. Nor shall I give you any hints save one: you must be more cunning than you have ever been before. You must think creatively and come up with a solution to an impossible problem, several solutions, as it happens. Even your contingencies shall need contingencies.”

Lucius now turned to the fire, watching the flames move in their undulating and infinitely varied design. “So this is about being clever…” 

“Partially. But more than that, it is about survival. There will come a time when your own life may rely on your ability to adapt in such a way that your enemies have no idea what you are going to do next. At times, to defeat your enemy, you must become your enemy.” 

“I see.” Lucius looked back at Abraxas, who now watched the fire as he sipped his drink. “Do you suppose I can win its trust?”

Abraxas inclined his head. “Perhaps you can. I'll give you fair warning, however: that is a long game, but one that may bear fruit if you play it strategically.” He stroked his lower lip with his thumb, mulling it over. “Yes, with patience and persistence you may get the beast to trust you.” 

“What then?” Lucius asked.

Abraxas turned back to Lucius, the light from the fire making the planes of his face stand out in relief, hardening his expression even more than usual. “Then you kill it.”

TWENTY-TWO: CLEVER GIRL

Two days had passed since the party and Abraxas had thankfully left Robena alone. Before everything had escalated, Robena asked Abraxas if she could have Christmas Eve and Christmas Day off to visit family and Abraxas had agreed to it. Robena supposed that she should confirm the plan with Abraxas after everything that had happened, but she wanted to avoid him at all costs. In truth, she could have used a week off, firstly, so she could truly have a break and secondly, so she could indeed look up Georgina and, with any luck, call on her as well. Despite Druella’s telling her not to, Robena needed answers to questions no pureblood could address without at least some bias.

Abraxas asked Robena to his office that very evening. She stood outside the door, chewing on her lip, and trying not to let her insides quake. She didn’t want to fear him; it was exactly what he wanted, but damn it to Hades if he wasn’t as terrifying as his reputation. Nonetheless, even he had to have an angle. Perhaps he could be bargained with. Robena finally took a deep breath, knocked on the door, and then entered as she was bid.

Robena closed the door behind her. Abraxas sat at his desk, sealing scrolls for correspondence. As he looked up at her, Robena immediately felt her heart speed up and her mouth dry up. Just beholding him made Robena realize the magnitude of her fury at him and it was everything she could do not to draw her wand and curse him where he sat. Her face must not have held the neutrality as she hoped it did, because Abraxas smiled at her like a Niffler in the Royal Mint. 

Robena took a quiet breath and regrouped. “You wanted to see me, sir?” She pitched her voice low so it wouldn’t tremble. Merlin forbid she should show Abraxas fear if she could damn well help it. He didn’t deserve it.

“I did indeed, Miss March. Sit down.”

“I’d prefer to stand sir.”

The smile evaporated instantly. “I wasn’t asking, Miss March.” He gestured to the chair impatiently. 

Robena decided to see what would happen if she held her ground. “Neither was I, sir. I can hear you with perfect clarity from a standing position.”

Abraxas turned to her without getting up and folded his hands in front of him, staying calm for the time being. In fact, he looked almost amused at her apparent insubordination. “And after the night of the party, no doubt standing is more comfortable.” He looked her up and down. “Would I be correct in that assessment?”

 _Damn him!_ Robena thought. She pursed her lips together and sat down opposite Abraxas, flopping into the chair deliberately and with all the nonchalance she could muster. Once sitting, she raised an eyebrow. 

Abraxas face now showed mock surprise as he turned back to her. “Oh, so I’m not correct and you’ve fully recovered. How timely.” 

_Damn him twice over,_ Robena thought, fuming. “I’ve already told you,” she snarled. “We are not doing that again.”

“Relax, Miss March. As it happens, your part in this requires very little, if any, effort.”

Robena sighed as she realized that yet again Abraxas was just trying to get a rise out of her and succeeding. “Why did you call me in here?” she asked wearily.

Abraxas sat back. “To confirm that you will be gone tomorrow and the day following, Miss March.”

“Oh. Yes, sir. Actually—“ She cut off, now unsure of how to ask.

“Actually, what?”

“I was wondering if I might extend it to a week.” 

A look of mild confusion crossed Abraxas’ face. He let his fingertips rest lightly on the side of his head. “Let me see if I understand you fully. In effect, you’ve just told me that you plan not to comply with _my_ wishes, and yet you are asking that I grant _you_ a boon, all with less than 24 hours' notice.”

Robena held up a hand in resignation. “Never mind, sir. It was just a thought. Two days is more than generous.” 

“You may.” 

“I beg your pardon?”

Abraxas leaned across the desk and looked at Robena intently. “I didn’t stutter. You may have the week, Miss March.”

Robena frowned. “Just like that?”

Abraxas opened his hand to her. “Just like that. We shall see you in one week’s time. You’re dismissed.”

Robena stood slowly. “Thank you, sir.”

The smile was back. “Don’t mention it, Miss March.”

Robena stood and left, once again feeling Abraxas’ eyes on her. She closed the door quietly, feeling troubled. That had been far too easy. She hadn’t had to try and convince him or bargain with him, he had simply capitulated. Why? Robena walked down the hall in the direction of her own room. She was hopelessly behind on packing, even with Bonnsie’s diligent laundry service. And while she was grateful for the extra time off, it would mean even more packing.

“Miss March?” Robena stopped at Lucius’ voice. It had come from the portrait gallery. Robena backed up and looked in to see Lucius standing where Druella had stood not three days hence. 

“Yes, Lucius?” Robena walked into the portrait gallery. The illuminated lamps bathed the room in a soft golden light. Lucius was looking up at the sleeping Laila. 

“Did I ever show you my mother’s portrait?” Lucius asked.

“No, but I’ve seen it before. It’s quite…nice,” Robena finished lamely.

Lucius turned to Robena. “She died having me, you know,” he said, his voice sad. 

“Yes, I’ve heard.” 

“Father won’t speak of her. Nor will he let me speak of her. When I was very small, I would come in here and sit on the floor for hours, speaking to her, looking at her, begging her to wake up and just…talk to me…tell me everything would be all right.” He looked down at the rug. “But of course she never has. Father used to say it was because I broke her heart.”

Robena felt the familiar vitriol rise in her that did whenever Abraxas did something heinous, which was becoming more frequent. “Oh, Lucius,” she said. “It’s not your fault she died.”

“Father believes differently, you know,” Lucius said quietly. “And he’s right. If it weren’t for me, she would still be alive. No one can deny that.”

Robena took Lucius by the shoulders and then used one hand to gently tilt his face up so he would look at her. The diffuse glow of the lamps softened the angles of his face, making him appear younger. “Lucius, I think I can speak for your mother in saying that if she had it all to do over again, she would do no different.” The look in Lucius’ eyes cut Robena to her core, his vulnerability, his desperation to believe that he was worthy. “And I can’t imagine she would be anything but proud of you, were she alive today.” She dropped her hands. “Now, run along, it’s getting late.”

Lucius smiled at her. “Good night, Miss March. Whatever father says, I’m glad you came to us.”

“I am too,” Robena said, although she felt an ache in her heart over the ambivalence she felt about the Malfoys and prayed that it didn’t show in her face. 

Lucius nodded once and then turned and left Robena alone in the portrait gallery. Robena looked up at Laila’s portrait, surprised to find her eyelids fluttering. Robena froze in place, not daring to move. Laila didn’t shift from her pose, but did open her eyes for a mere moment, locked Robena’s gaze and smiled sleepily at her, before drifting off again. 

Robena’s heart turned over at what she would be more than happy to interpret as approval. Once again, Druella was right. Lucius never would know any mother but her and his other governesses. While Robena wasn’t sure if Druella was correct that Lucius loved her, he certainly trusted her. That alone was a weighty responsibility. 

The empty halls echoed as Robena walked back to her room. The party decorations were still up, the ivy, the mistletoe, and the pine boughs still trimmed the railings and accented the sconces. Their amber light danced, making all the shadows larger and more vivid. Robena found that she kept catching movement in her peripheral vision. She would pause and turn quickly, only to find nothing there. 

When Robena returned to her room, she shut the door behind her and leaned against it. She even drew her wand just in case. Before she could relax, Robena found she had to check the closet and under the bed. Once Robena determined that they were clear, she put her wand up. She then hastily finished packing. Finally, Robena changed into a nightgown and got ready for bed around ten o’clock, a normal hour for her. 

She turned her lamp down and lay in bed. The moon was moving back towards full and shone through her window, creating squares of pale, cold light on the floor. Everything was quiet. Just then, Robena heard a tap. She immediately tensed, her hands clenched by her sides. The tap happened again, and then a third time. Robena settled down in realizing it was just the wind, rattling at the window. She closed her eyes again, now with the only noise the ticking of her alarm clock.

After a minute, Robena’s eyes flew open once more as she realized the cause of her insomnia. Abraxas was going to come for her that night. She was absolutely certain of it. It was the only explanation for his sudden and seemingly capricious acquiescence. Benevolence and magnanimity simply weren’t in his nature. He was going to come to her and use her request for additional time off as a bargaining chip to get her to do…Robena shuddered. _Whatever he wants,_ she thought. _Don’t let him break you._

Robena set her mouth in a determined line. There was no way she was going to let him take advantage of her again. Unfortunately, Robena knew that Abraxas held all the power, both to overtake her and to withhold her time off, to say nothing of sacking her and ruining her reputation. _I don’t care,_ she thought savagely, _He’s not having me tonight, whatever it takes._ What she needed was a foolproof plan, not just to prevent Abraxas from violating her, but for making sure that he remained powerless to do so until she was safely away.

Robena looked around her moonlit room for inspiration. Her eyes settled upon her alarm clock and she smiled. She had it. The plan she was conceiving was nervy and, if it worked, it would work exactly once and thoroughly infuriate Abraxas, a possibility Robena found completely acceptable, preferable even. She stood and grabbed the alarm clock in one hand and her wand in the other. She set the clock down on her washstand before casting Lumos and digging around in her valise. Like most witches and wizards, she carried a selection of potions, nothing outlandish, just Essence of Dittany, Draught of Peace, magical stain remover and the like. 

Now Robena set all of her potions in a line and tried to hearken back to what Professor Slughorn had said about using one to imbue a commonplace item with a one-use spell. Robena narrowed her eyes. Potions had never been her strong suit, but she had scraped a _G_ on her NEWT, so she wasn’t completely useless. Robena closed her eyes, trying to recall. She did remember Professor Slughorn wagging his finger at her during graduation, that slightly patronizing, fatherly look in his eye, “Use your potions knowledge regularly, Miss March, or you will grow as rusty as an iron cauldron.” 

Robena smiled in recollection. Professor Slughorn was right, but luckily she remembered that the mini-ritual took three drops of Essence of Dittany and two of henbane oil, along with the incant. Robena opened up both vials and took the droppers out, letting the prescribed amount drip into the top of the alarm clock. The numbers glowed green and the clock's ticking increased in volume. Robena wound the alarm clock as she started the spiritual concentration required to work the spell. When the clock would wind no further, she set the alarm to go off at nine o’clock, well after she’d be gone. Luckily, Bonnsie already knew that Robena wouldn’t need her services the following day, so that was one less complication for Robena to worry about.

Finally, Robena picked up her wand from where she had set it while dealing with the potions and pointed it at the alarm clock. “ _Finite Incantatum Mora_ ” she said, performing the requisite wandwork. The entire clock face now glowed for a moment, before all faded back to its ordinary, mundane appearance. Robena put the potions and her valise away and then took the clock and her wand back to her bed. 

Robena placed the clock back on the night stand where it ticked at her innocuously. Robena then stashed her wand under her pillow. She would need to get it extremely quickly and would truly only have one shot. Against Abraxas’ power and cunning, Robena knew that all she had on her side was the element of surprise. She climbed into bed, lay on her back once again, pulled the covers up and stared at the ceiling, waiting.

After a time, Robena felt herself drifting off. She opened her eyes quickly. It was imperative that she not fall asleep. Too soon, Robena felt her eyes closing and herself slipping under as sleep took her. However, her eyes flew open at the _Alohamora_ whispered at the door, the click of the lock, and finally, the quiet opening of the door. 

Her sole advantage would only work if she could lull Abraxas into complacency and so Robena closed her eyes again when the door opened, as she had to at least pretend to be asleep. Luckily for Robena, she knew that Abraxas' arrogance would lead him to believe that there was nothing that she could do other than ineffectually threaten him with words as she had done last time. She focused on keeping her breathing even and quiet, so she could hear him. Hunter that he was, Abraxas knew how to move quietly, so crept to the side of the bed with barely a creak in the floorboards. Nonetheless, Robena sensed him as he stood over her.

Without preamble, Abraxas pulled the sheets down. Robena opened her eyes and blinked a few times in apparent confusion. “What—“ she said sleepily, as if just waking up before reacting in the sudden realization of what was about to happen. She gasped, sat up quickly, and drew in her knees. “No! Please don’t do this.” She let despair creep into her voice as if she already knew that Abraxas would win, that he was the stronger of the two of them and that she was utterly at his mercy. Robena knew that Abraxas would eat that up and lick the spoon.  
She wasn’t wrong. 

“Oh, Miss March, I think we can both agree that you brought this on yourself,” Abraxas said, vindication already present in his smooth voice as sat next to her on the bed.

Robena put her face in her hands, her knees still drawn up to her chest. “I just wanted to see my family,” she lamented, hamming it up just enough to make it believable, that Abraxas had truly broken her. “That’s all I wanted to do. Is that so much to ask?” She let her shoulders shake. 

“And I have yet to deny that to you, Miss March,” Abraxas' tone was almost gentle. “But I made my intentions quite clear the other night.” He started pushing her nightdress up. “And I shan’t be denied. If you wish to see your family so very badly, my strong recommendation is that you let this happen.”

“I don’t want to,” Robena whispered. 

Abraxas sighed. “You may fight me if you wish, Miss March,” he said coldly, “but the outcome is not going to change, aside from an increase in your own suffering. I’ll have you one way or the other, so you may as well make it easy and by extension, well and truly earn your holiday. It’s entirely up to you.”

Robena dropped her hands and looked at him despondently. She slid back down in the bed until her head lay on the pillow once again and let her legs relax. “Clever girl,” Abraxas said. As Francois had done, Abraxas moved her knees out one at a time with his hands before kneeling between them. He slid her nightgown up all the way as Robena drew her arms in, making it look like she was protecting her chest, but in reality moving her right hand in the closest proximity possible to her wand without giving away what she was doing. 

Abraxas used his knees to push her legs further apart, one hand now attending to himself as the other moved to her hip. _It’s now or never,_ Robena thought, her heart racing. Just before Abraxas could enter her, she shot her right hand behind her head, under the pillow, drew her wand and pointed it at him. Robena enjoyed one glorious second of utter shock and disbelief on Abraxas’ face as he looked up from what he was doing to her wand point. “ _Petrificus Totalus!_ ” Robena cried out. 

The spell took effect instantly and Abraxas’ stiff form fell on Robena. Robena had been counting on this and even though it knocked the breath from her lungs, she only needed a moment to recover. The adrenaline coursed through her body now; that combined with her unmitigated success gave her strength. She drew her knee up beside Abraxas and used her hips to turn to the side as quickly and violently as she could.

Abraxas fell on the floor next to the bed with a satisfying thump, not so loud to have the house elves running, but loud enough that Robena suspected it probably hurt. _Too bad he didn’t fall face down,_ she thought wickedly. She pulled her nightdress back down before leaning over and peering at Abraxas over the bed. He lay on his back, completely immobile. Only his eyes moved, finding Robena’s and glaring at her murderously. 

Robena hopped off the bed and squatted next to him. “I told you I didn’t want to,” she said. “That it wasn’t going to happen again. Do you have any recollection of my saying that to you?” She smiled at him. “I can see that you’re upset with me, but I think we can both agree that you brought this on yourself.” She gave Abraxas a businesslike look. “Now, I’m going to tell you what’s going to happen. You’re going to lie on the floor all night long, unmolested, which honestly is more generous than you deserve. In the morning, at nine o’clock exactly, the spell will break, when I’m long gone.” She stood. “Good night, Mr. Malfoy. Reach up and give me a tap if you need anything.” 

This last was petty but Robena found she didn’t care a whit. As a precaution, she bent down, patted Abraxas down quickly and found his wand. As she drew it, its power and malevolence almost took her breath away. Robena shrugged the feeling off before moving over to her wardrobe, standing on her tiptoes and placing it safely out of Abraxas’ reach. 

She climbed into bed once more and pulled the covers up to her chin. Once again, silence reigned in the room, save for the ticking clock. Robena sighed in contentment and closed her eyes. When he recovered, Abraxas might actually kill her, but it wouldn’t happen tonight; tonight he could do nothing whatsoever to her. Tonight Robena would sleep. She closed her eyes and drifted off with a smile on her face. 

TWENTY-THREE: THE CAPTIVE

The ring of the alarm woke Robena and her eyes flew open. _Oh no,_ she thought in a panic, _I overslept and now he’s going to—_ Hands closing around her throat cut the thought off abruptly. Robena clawed at them, but it was no use; Abraxas' strength was so much greater than hers. It always had been and always would be. _My dear, it’s the Malfoys…you don’t get to win…get to win…don’t get to win…_ Druella’s voice echoed in Robena’s mind. Darkness crept into the edges of her vision, inky black oblivion. _This is it,_ she thought; _this is how I die._

“Missed our chance, didn’t we?” Abraxas' voice sounded far away over the buzzing in Robena's ears, making the _S_ sounds drawn out and sibilant. “It was a cunning plan, even I can admit that, but did rely on you waking up on time.” He must have been sitting on her, straddling her because she felt almost unbearable contraction in her ribs and core. Robena managed to open her eyes, and saw to her surprise that it wasn't Abraxas who squeezed her at all, but a giant serpent, an anaconda with yellow eyes and a forked tongue. Its mottled green and gray body in its contracting coils shifted like Abraxas’ hunting tunic. 

The room around Robena melted away like candle wax and she lay in the center of the Fell Circle, surrounded by white marble statues that appeared upside down to her perspective, their blank eyes crying blood as the serpent squeezed the life from her. All Abraxas’ creatures were present except the one typically inhabiting the white block of blank marble next to her head. The siren. Where was she? Despite the colored haziness edging out Robena’s vision, she looked around desperately even as she struggled. 

Words appeared on the blank marble, making Robena do a double take. _You are bound by duty. You are bound by love. You are bound by hate. I am bound by blood. We are bound by lovers two. Find me. Free me. I am your doom and your salvation._ The words shimmered out of sight. Robena turned her attention back to the serpent, which now opened its mouth, revealing four-inch long curved fangs. It drew its head back and as it lunged for the killing blow, Robena screamed…

…And woke up. Her night dress clung to her chest and her back where she had been sweating from her nightmare. Robena sat up and rubbed her eyes before looking at the clock. It read five past six. Robena drew a deep sigh of relief. She had plenty of time. Robena looked out the window and saw that the sky was just starting to go from black to gray, the stars fading out with the encroaching dawn. 

After a few deep breaths to calm her still-racing heart, Robena swung her legs around to the edge of the bed. She stepped carefully over Abraxas where he still lay, immobile and supine in the darkness. Robena didn’t want to see if he was awake or not as it didn’t matter at this point. He wasn’t going to get up and kill her or try and strangle her or turn into a-- _the dream,_ Robena suddenly thought. She had to remember what the siren said. Already her waking mind was driving the dream from the edges of her consciousness. 

Robena found her wand and cast Lumos before rifling through her desk to find quill and parchment. She sat down at and took a deep breath. _Bound by love, bound by hate, bound by lovers two._ Robena didn’t bother taking the time to interpret what it meant, just wrote it down. _Bound by blood. Find me. Free me. I am your…_ What was the next bit? Robena closed her eyes, trying to bring the dream back, trying to picture the blank marble and the cryptic writing. _I am your doom…._ Robena opened her eyes and wrote the words down. _I am your doom and your…salvation._ That was it. 

Robena folded the paper and placed it in her valise. She would ponder it later. Right now she had to move quickly. She attended to the necessities, dressed quickly, grabbed her suitcase and valise and left her room, closing the door behind her. As she walked down the hall, passing by all the Malfoy artifacts, the suits of armor, the tapestries, the statuary, the bloody dragons, the full weight of what she had done started to descend upon her. The house was still quiet; the house elves were likely in the kitchen if they weren’t still asleep. But the quiet wasn’t peaceful, just ominous, as if judging her. Robena shivered. She had to depart as soon as possible. 

Even though she was starving, Robena opted to skip breakfast. She made her way to the atrium, where she could depart through the front door, go down the walk, and exit the gates, at which point she could Disapparate. On her way down the hall, she passed by the same series of rooms she had passed by hundreds of times, plus the locked door that she had always assumed led to the basement. 

Just past the door, Robena suddenly stopped before backing up the three or four steps to stand even with the door. It was commonplace: oak bound with black iron bolts, like most other doors within Malfoy Manor that led outside. Robena reflected that when she was at Hogwarts, Headmaster Dumbledore had said that every single house had its worst traits. For Gryffindor, it was poor impulse control. For Hufflepuff, it was an overly trusting nature. For Slytherin, it was an appalling victim complex. And for Ravenclaw, it was insatiable curiosity. Robena slowly set her luggage down on the marble floor and drew her wand. Before she even realized what she was doing, she pointed it at the closed and locked door. _”Alohamora.”_

Had it even been her own voice casting the spell? It didn’t matter now, the door clicked open. _”Lumos.”_ The blue light from Robena’s spell illuminated a spiral of stone stairs descending down into blackness below. Robena started on the first step and then the second. It was almost as if all of this was happening despite any will she had in the matter. Still, Robena knew she might never again have this opportunity, knowing that the patriarch of the Malfoy family lay helpless to stop her two floors above.

The stairs went down and down. As Robena descended, so too did the temperature. After a time, Robena could smell dank water. She paused for a moment and listened. Now she could hear dripping water, echoing through some vast, stone-lined space. Robena closed her eyes and focused. In addition to the dripping water, she heard a more regular sound, that of water flowing. She opened her eyes. She was getting close; after a dozen more steps, Robena finally found herself on the neatly-fitted flagstones of the dungeon floor.

She held her wand aloft, illuminating the space as best she could. Channels of running water lined three sides of a rectangle of flagstones on the floor. The channels disappeared into vaulted tunnels that branched and divided, going Merlin-knew-where. Each side of the rectangle held a table four draped with black cloth, each embroidered with gold and silver thread that caught the light from Robena’s wand. She moved closer to one of the tables, noticing that the thread formed arcane symbols and ciphers. 

Other objects lay on the table, an onyx knife with dried blood on its edge, a bronze ankh, a small dragon skull, a cask of sea salt, and an empty potion bottle laying on its side. Robena picked this last up, squinting at the torn label. _-aserum_ was all she could read. She set it down before turning to the next table that stood just beyond the light of her wand. As Robena moved towards it, she noticed something much larger lay on the table, something lumpy and irregular. 

Robena took another step closer and, as her wand light fell upon the table, she gasped and her hand flew to her mouth. It was the siren. She lay on her side, her dark hair spilling over the side of the table. Her exposed back showed two jagged lumps of raised flesh, feathered with cinnamon-flecked down, like an owlet. She wasn’t bleeding this time, not like in Robena’s dream, the wing stumps merely showed masses of crisscrossing pink scar tissue. 

Even as Robena held her breath, she noticed the siren’s rib cage contracting and expanding rhythmically. Robena let her own breath out slowly and walked around the other side of the table, not daring to touch the creature. When she got around to the other side, she started in surprise. The siren’s eyes were open. They were an otherworldly topaz, with a shifting, flame-like green corona close to the pupil, glowing preternaturally in the dim light. Those remarkable, non-human eyes didn’t seem to register Robena at all. They merely stared into the dark tunnels beyond the dungeon. One of them had a cut through the eyebrow, dried blood present there as well. 

Clamped over the siren’s mouth and lining her jaw to both ears was a piece of steel, no doubt impregnated with a Placement Charm and not easily removed. Engraved runes decorated the steel, glowing and pulsing with a whitish-blue sheen in the dim light of the dungeon. Shackles bound the siren's wrists together in front of her. Her garments were in disarray, as if someone had put them back on her in a hurry, and Robena saw tears in the fabric, not unlike her first dream about the siren. Luckily, this time the siren didn’t resemble Robena at all. The last thing Robena noticed was a smear of blood on the siren’s left arm, but no injuries or cuts. 

Something nagged at the back of Robena’s mind. She closed her eyes and reflected back to the night of the party. Dusty space. An unexpected demiguise. A latticed grate making a pattern of light on Lucius’ face, features intent with concentration. Abraxas’ voice: _The siren is ready as well…One would think after all this time she would comply…never seems to learn until my blood or my Imperius puts her in her place._ Robena opened her eyes. That was the explanation for the siren's trance-like state: Abraxas’ Imperius curse and the power of his blood ensured her eternal capitulation to his and his ancestors' control. 

Robena glanced back at the steel gag; even under the the double compulsion of Abraxas’ Dark Arts and his blood, he wasn’t taking any chances whatsoever. _Find me. Free me._ That was what the siren had communicated in this most recent dream. Robena felt her brows knit in concentration. _Think, Robena!_ Although she could break the Imperius curse with a Finite Incantatum, Abraxas would know that someone had been down there, and with Robena’s latest outrage against his person, it wouldn’t take him long to draw the accurate conclusion and react accordingly. 

Removing the steel gag was out of the question. The siren might have been trying to communicate with Robena, but still, she was a siren with a voice powerful enough to control, compel, or even kill with a simple utterance. What was the other thing the creature had said? _I am your salvation and your doom._ The warning was ominous at best. Moreover, the possibility existed that removing the gag might set off some sort of alarm.

Robena finally sighed. She could do nothing now. She needed some solution that didn’t put her entirely at the siren’s mercy, and yet didn’t involve casting an Unforgiveable Curse. She looked at the siren’s arm, at that smear of blood. That was the key. Robena needed Malfoy blood at the very least. There were only two living Malfoys and Robena knew she would rather rot than involve Lucius. She looked to the exit of the dungeon. She could go up to her room right now and somehow extract some blood from Abraxas while he was still incapacitated. _And then what?_ she wondered. _Obliviate him? That would rather defeat the purpose, Miss March._ Abraxas’ words came back to her now and Robena couldn’t help but smile in the dark. 

She needed a better-reasoned plan. It was that simple. She also needed to figure out exactly what she wanted from the siren. And none of it was going to come together right then and there. As much as she loathed it, Robena had to leave the siren as a bound and helpless victim in a dark dungeon. Abraxas would eventually return the siren to the Fell Circle. He wouldn’t want his family's masterpiece to remain incomplete. Even if he didn’t return the siren for some reason, Robena now knew how to get to the dungeon, the one other place that the siren might be. 

None of this changed the fact that Robena knew that she had to leave Malfoy Manor right away. She took one last look at the siren and then came back around the table. She now noticed the circle of salt on the ground, the dried blood all around, more symbols drawn on the ground with chalk, three black candles in front of each altar. In witnessing these, Robena could no longer keep up any pretense that Francois wasn't a willing party to all of it. The thought both saddened and disgusted her. With no more recourse, Robena picked her way carefully through all of the ritual relics and walked back up the stairs. 

Although the house remained still, cold sunlight started to filter through the windows. Robena grabbed her suitcase and valise and, without any further delay, exited Malfoy Manor. As soon as she could, she Disapparated, Apparating around the corner from her parents’ house. Robena and her parents had drifted apart over the years, as happened to many Muggle families with a witch or wizard child, but they got on well enough. The Marches had decorated somewhat perfunctorily and although they seemed happy to see Robena, as usual, conversation lapsed into awkward silence, but anything was better than being at Malfoy Manor at that point. 

All that changed Christmas morning. Robena and her family had exchanged a few gifts and were eating breakfast when Robena heard a knocking at the window next to the front door. A magnificent eagle owl had made the sound, and now glared at her through the window with disapproving golden eyes and a scowling brow. Robena’s heart sank. It was without question a Malfoy bird. Robena opened the window and the owl held out a leg, upon which a package hung. Robena carefully removed it and closed the window. The owl flapped into the pale sky and wheeled out of sight over the trees and power lines. 

Robena walked up the stairs with her package, settling on the landing as the muffled sounds of coffee cups and dishes settling in the sink came from the kitchen. The plain brown package contained a myriad of small objects that clinked and rattled against each other as Robena shifted it in her hands. Heart beating, Robena set the package down on the landing between her legs and slowly tore the brown paper, before unfolding it and revealing the package’s contents.

Inside was Robena’s alarm clock, smashed into hundreds of pieces. Shattered gears, broken glass, destroyed housing, tiny screws, bent hands, all lay in disarray against the innocuous brown paper. Underneath was a note, written in Abraxas’ elegant Edwardian script in black ink on costly parchment. _So looking forward to your return to Malfoy Manor, Miss March. The time cannot possibly pass quickly enough until you are back under my roof. -A_

“Was there someone at the door, dear?” Her mother’s voice made Robena jump. 

“Yes--I mean, no. It was an owl for me, mum.”

“Well, what did you get?” 

Robena forced herself to smile. “Just a season’s greeting from my boss.”

Robena’s mother beamed. “How thoughtful. He must be just a lovely person.”

“He’s…truly one of a kind.”


	8. Ch. 24: Georgina; Ch. 25: Diagon Alley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Christmas, out in the Muggle world, Robena finally tracks down Georgina Bailey and gets a straight, but not necessarily satisfying answer from her. Robena takes a detour briefly to Diagon Alley prior to returning to Malfoy Manor. Once back, Robena and Abraxas tacitly let each other know that neither is willing to give the other any ground. 
> 
> _Georgina shook her head slowly. “I used to be just like you, you know. Graduated from Hogwarts, head full of pie-in-the-sky Dumbledore rubbish, that love was going to make everything better, that if I was just ‘kind’ to the Malfoys, show them how worthy I was, that somehow silly little Muggle-born_ me _would be the one to break the cycle. Abraxas proved me wrong right quick.”_

TWENTY-FOUR: GEORGINA

It took Robena three miserable days after Christmas traipsing around Manchester in unceasing freezing rain to track down Georgina Bailey, consulting phone books, asking former flatmates, and hitting dead ends. In the end, Georgina Bailey found her. Robena was sitting as the sole patron in a café at a battered seafoam green formica table, its gold flecks long-ago faded to a dirty brown. She sipped at a sub-standard cup of coffee, her uneaten fried egg congealing unappetizingly on the plate in front of her.

Robena wasn’t even particularly hungry; she just wanted someplace warm to re-group after a dissatisfying morning of more of the same. Robena poked at the skin forming on the egg, perversely fascinated. “You’re her, then?” a brisk voice jolted her out of her reverie. 

Robena looked up. A woman in her mid-twenties stood over her, arms folded. She had curling blonde hair caught in a loose braid, fly-away tendrils framing a pugnacious, freckled face with brown eyes that carried faint lavender circles underneath. She wore an olive overcoat and a gray scarf. A cheap, turquoise purse on a faux gold chain was slung over one shoulder. In fact, her entire appearance struck Robena as aggressively Muggle-ish. 

“My name is Robena March,” Robena said. “You must be Georgina Bailey. Please sit down.”

Georgina tilted her head to the side as if to evaluate Robena, a look of suspicion in her eyes. Curiosity finally got the better of her and she set her purse on the table before she unwound her scarf and unbuttoned her coat. As Georgina drew it off her shoulders, Robena’s eyes immediately went to her prominent belly. “Oh Merlin,” she breathed, even while knowing her staring was probably rude. “Is it—?” She couldn’t even finish her question.

Georgina smirked as she sat down. “You’re a nosy one, aren’t you? Ravenclaw?” Her voice carried the flattened vowels and clipped words of a northerner.

Robena blushed. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my…please forgive me. You must be famished. Let me buy you breakfast at the least.” She looked around and quickly got the waitress’ attention. 

After Georgina ordered and the waitress disappeared, both were silent for a minute. Finally Georgina placed her chin in one hand and looked at Robena. “So, you’re Lucius’ new governess.”

“How did you--?”

Georgina dropped her hand. “I didn’t. You just told me.” 

Robena suppressed a smile. She could see already why Lucius had liked her so much. “Perhaps you should have been in Ravenclaw yourself."

The waitress brought out Georgina’s food at that moment, a breakfast that looked far more appealing than what Robena had ordered and Georgina brightened immediately. The waitress left once more. “Oh no,” Georgina said cheerfully. “I’m a badger and proud.”

“Ah. Well then, I was wondering if you would be so kind as to answer a few questions.”

“ ‘So kind?’” Georgina echoed. “Is that what you think me answering your questions would be? Kind?”

“Kind is the word that Lucius uses most often to describe you, yes.”

“Yes, I was kind at one point. That was one of many things that I left at Malfoy Manor.” She stabbed at her sausage with her fork. 

“Why did you leave?”

Georgina chewed thoughtfully. “Why did _you_ leave?”

“I didn’t leave. I return in just a few days.”

Georgina grunted. “Then you’re not as clever as I thought. Maybe I should ask you why you haven’t left.” 

“Well…” Robena took another sip of her coffee, keeping her voice casual. “I did leave Abraxas Malfoy immobilized on the floor of my room all night prior to taking my holiday.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “He never even saw it coming.” 

Georgina froze, incredulity, fear, and amusement all at odds on her freckled face. 

Robena continued before Georgina could say anything. “So let’s not mince words, Miss Bailey. We have something in common, I believe.” She looked at Georgina’s protruding belly. “You must have cared enough for Lucius to tolerate Abraxas’ nonsense for an impressively long time, so how did you do it? And why did you finally leave?”

“No,” Georgina said. “And don’t call me ‘Miss Bailey.’” She looked back down at her plate. “That’s what _he_ used to call me.”

“Very well, Georgina. What did you mean by ‘no?’”

“The answer to your first question is ‘no.’ The baby isn’t his.” 

Robena let out a sigh of relief, but whether for herself or for Georgina, she wasn’t sure. 

Georgina gestured to Robena with a triangle of buttered toast. “First off, he can’t get a child on me any more’n he can on you. Even he’ll tell you that one if you ask him. I mean, you’re Muggle-born, yeah? Of course you are…nothing else you’d be, and no mistake. Second of all, if I was pregnant with his child, how long do you think he’d let me live with such a thing growing inside of me?”

Robena felt chilled by the bitterness in Georgina’s words. Lucius had not only described Georgina as kind, but as bubbly and full of joy. Malfoy Manor had truly hardened her. “Is that why you left?” Robena asked. “Because of the baby?”

“Partially. The other reason was that I knew that I couldn’t help Lucius. Not really. And not where it counted, anyway.”

 _You won’t save him, not in the end._ “But he loved you, Georgina. I’m sure of it. You asked me why I won’t leave; that’s the reason. We, his governesses, are his only connections to a love that asks for nothing in return. You think his father gives that to him? No, of course you don’t. That’s why you stuck it out for so long. Despite Abraxas and all his cruelty, all his maliciousness, you loved Lucius in return.”

Georgina shook her head slowly. “I used to be just like you, you know. Graduated from Hogwarts, head full of pie-in-the-sky Dumbledore rubbish, that love was going to make everything better, that if I was just ‘kind’ to the Malfoys, show them how worthy I was, that somehow silly little Muggle-born _me_ would be the one to break the cycle. Abraxas proved me wrong right quick.”

Robena shook her head. “I don’t think so, Georgina. You lasted way too long for me to believe that.” She leaned in and tapped the table with a finger. “And you know what? I truly believe that you got through to Lucius. He thinks the world of you, even now, despite your blood status. He doesn’t carry the hate that his father does.” 

Georgina leaned in as well, her voice intense and low. “And how long do you think that’s going to last? Hm? Abraxas has that lad—that _house_ \--gripped so tight that Lucius has no hope of escape no matter what you, or I, or any other Mudblood governess does.”

Immediately, the dream came rushing back to Robena, the serpent, the fangs, and the marble. She squeezed her eyes tight as her abdomen contracted reflexively. She opened her eyes once again. “But how did you do it? Last for so long?” 

Georgina took a sip of her tea. “Simple. After the first couple of times I asked him, no, _begged_ him to Obliviate me.”

Robena felt an eyebrow go up. “And he agreed to it? He refused to do it with me…he said it would defeat the purpose.” 

Georgina set her cup down. Her gaze slipped to the side. “Eventually. I told him—“ she cut off, her brown eyes now glistening. She dropped her voice low. “I told him I’d do anything he wanted, if only he’d Obliviate me after.” She took a breath, looked up at the ceiling and blinked a few times. “I’d wake up, bruises all over, dried blood in my mouth, blood on the sheets, and my clothes—“ She cut off before looking at Robena once again. “You get the idea. But I didn’t remember any of it. I felt fear, terror really, around him, but never could remember why. Anything I did remember was from before.” 

It occurred to Robena that in the end, Abraxas had gotten exactly what he wanted with Georgina, even with Obliviating her: a Muggle-born servant under his roof that he could use with impunity, who feared him above all others. In Georgina, he had successfully broken at least one of Lucius’ governesses. “Did Lucius ever catch on?” Robena asked. 

Georgina sniffled. “You know him. He’s a bright boy. He knew something was going on but he was too young to catch on to what exactly. I mean, Lucius saw that I was unhappy, but never did find out why.” 

“You kept it from him, then?”

“Of course. Couldn’t have told him if I’d wanted to. I mean, have _you_ told him?”

Robena sighed. “To what possible benefit?” 

Georgina took another bite of her sausage. “Exactly.” She ate in silence for a moment. 

“So, what next?” Robena asked.

“What do you mean?” 

“What’s Abraxas’ next move, do you think?”

Georgina wiped her mouth with her napkin and set it down. “Not bad, that,” she said, looking at her clean plate and then back up at Robena. “Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

Georgina shrugged. “What’s his favorite hobby?”

“Hunting deer with his dreaded English longbow and cursed arrows,” Robena answered dryly.

“A hobby that takes patience, yeah?”

Robena sat back in her chair. “So he’ll bide his time and pretend that nothing’s wrong. That he’s genuinely glad to have me back.”

“Yep. Then, when you think everything is safe, when your guard is down, that’s when he’ll get you.” 

“How long?”

“Dunno. Like I said, he’s patient. Could be weeks, months, a year…no telling, really. But he will get you. And he’ll make sure that it hurts, to teach you a lesson.”

“And if I don’t let him?”

“Let’s say maybe you do.”

Robena set her lips in a firm line. “Absolutely not.” 

Georgina smiled. “You think he’s the only one as can play the game?”

“I have no interest in playing his game.”

Georgina’s smile widened. “I don’t know about that, missy. The only way that he’d have let his guard down around you and let you leave him on the floor all night is if you let him get very, _very_ close to you.” Georgina sat back and folded her arms. “You _do_ play his game, and pretty well, to hear you tell it. So, which do you think is smarter, letting him think he’s the one winning, or fighting him off at the next turn? You already know the answer.”

Robena scowled. Georgina had a point. “So I lose a battle for the sake of the war.”

“Something like that.” Her demeanor became somewhat bleaker as her hand absently stroked her belly. “Of course, any time you fight back, he’ll escalate, until only one of you is standing.”

Robena raised an eyebrow. “A bit dramatic, wouldn’t you say? You’re both still standing.”

Georgina shook her head. “No, only him. He beat me square and we both know it.” Her smile was now wistful. “I’m out, Robena.”

Robena felt her heart drop. “What do you mean?”

“I’m out of the wizarding world. I set a toe back over the line and my life is forfeit, and now I have more than just me to think about.”

“You can’t practice magic any more?”

“No, ma’am.” 

Robena closed her eyes and massaged them with her fingers. Abraxas had extracted an astronomical price from Georgina. He hadn’t just broken her; he had banished this Muggle-born witch successfully, eliminating one more from a world over which he considered himself and his fellow purebloods the natural rulers. “How can you stand it?” She opened her eyes and looked at Georgina.

Georgina stood and started putting her coat back on. “Funny thing is, I don’t miss it. I don’t miss the hate, the fear…I think even you can relate to that. I’ve got a Muggle man that loves me, treats me like a queen, doesn’t give two shits about my blood status, or even that I’m a witch. And now I’m about to give him a child.” She wrapped her scarf around her neck before tucking it into her coat. She looked at Robena curiously. “I’m happy.” 

“And if your child gets a letter from Hogwarts? What then?”

Georgina’s shoulders slumped. “Thanks for breakfast,” she muttered. “It was nice to meet you. Please don’t try and find me again.”

Robena stood as well, despairing of an answer to this last. It would be Georgina’s cross to bear anyway. “And thank you for answering my questions. I know it was difficult. Please take care of yourself.”

Georgina gave her one more look. “Say hello to Lucius for me. Do that and then run for your life.” With that, she slung her purse over her shoulder and walked out of the diner into the icy rain, her collar pulled up against the wind. Robena watched from the window as Georgina’s path took her into an ever-increasing flow of Muggle pedestrian traffic until eventually Georgina blended in with them completely, disappearing from sight.

TWENTY-FIVE: DIAGON ALLEY 

The last few days of her holiday flew by more quickly than Robena had wanted. Before she knew it, she was saying her goodbyes to her family. _It was a fair enough holiday, all things considered,_ Robena reflected. She was taking her last few hours to wander about Diagon Alley, a pleasant detour before she had to Apparate back to Malfoy Manor. The shops were still lit and decorated for Christmas and a light blanket of snow graced the awnings and gables. Whilst taking in this romantic scene, Robena could admit that leaving the Muggle world for the magical one was always a relief, even as her position within the magical one was becoming increasingly precarious. 

Even though the Statute of Secrecy around the Muggle families of witches and wizards like herself involved quite a gray area, there was little she could actually say to them even if she were fully able to. The chief problem was that her family could not even relate to the most mundane aspects of the world of magic. They found them interesting, to be sure, especially in the beginning, but Robena and other Muggleborns spanned a delicate line between telling them too much and being able to share anything at all. Robena had learned about pureblood prejudice quite early in her foray into the magical world, like all Muggleborns did, but didn’t have the heart to try and convey any of that thorny subject to her family.

Robena stopped outside of Madame Malkin’s and looked into the brightly-lit window. The shop had a green velvet and chiffon gown on display, similar to the cursed one Robena had worn to the ball. In looking at it, Robena further realized that if she couldn’t explain pureblood bigotry to her parents, she certainly couldn’t tell them about the Malfoys. It would involve explaining far too much and if they knew that she was being hurt, it would do little more than fill them with helpless despair over the situation. After all, they still did care about her, even if their relationship had eroded somewhat since Robena had received her own Hogwarts letter. No, it was far simpler to omit just about everything. But that did mean that Robena’s list of allies was dismally short and that there would always be a wall between herself and her Muggle family, one she was forced to admit to building and maintaining.

Robena continued her journey down Diagon Alley, eventually finding Solomon’s Sundries, a Knut and Sickle store where she could purchase a new alarm clock. The tinkling bell above the door sounded as Robena walked in and stamped the snow from her boots. Matilda and Matthias Solomon, an ancient married couple, ran the store. Each was as deaf as a post, but each was also convinced that they weren’t as deaf as the other. It made shopping either difficult or amusing, depending on how much time one had.

Matilda stood behind the counter and Matthias was in the middle of the laborious undertaking of re-stocking the shelves of cosmetics potions, squinting at each bottle and muttering to himself before placing it, changing his mind, and then re-placing it. Matilda smiled at Robena as she walked in. “Something I can help you with, dearie?” she asked in her creaky voice.

“I need a new alarm clock, please,” Robena answered her politely.

“Eh?” Matilda’s eyes squinted behind their square spectacles.

“A. New. Alarm. Clock.” Robena enunciated.

“Oh, yes, dearie.” With great difficulty, Matilda turned from her and started digging through a case of striped socks.

“No, no,” Robena said. “Clock. CLOCK.”

“What?”

Mathias froze in his task and looked at them curiously. Gathering that they needed his help, he set the bottle in his hand on the already-crowded shelf and tottered over. “She said a frock, of course, Matty.” 

_Oh for Merlin’s sake,_ Robena thought. “You know what? I can find what I’m looking for; it’s no trouble at all. You’re both busy." She infused as much cheer as she could into her voice. Before she had to repeat herself yet again, she sidled past Matthias and went to the back of the store. It didn’t take her long to find what she needed, a simple mechanico-magical design, not unlike what she had before. 

Robena brought the clock back up to the front counter and set it down. Matilda looked at it and smiled once again. “A clock? Why didn’t you say so, poppet?” With trembling fingers, Matilda started ringing it up on the ancient till. Her palsy made her slip in an extra zero more than once, until Robena would have been spending a month’s salary on the item. Robena tapped her finger on the glass of the display case and took a deep breath, summoning all of her patience.

“Gran, I’ve got it. Go help Grandpapa.” 

Robena looked up at the new but vaguely familiar voice. It belonged to a woman about three years older than Robena herself, a neat and pretty if somewhat haughty blonde, who Robena remembered from Hogwarts. She had been in Slytherin house and her name was _P_ -something. Penelope? Prue? 

The woman smirked. “Priscilla,” she said in answer to Robena’s unspoken question.

Ah yes, that was it, Priscilla Solomon. “Legilimens?” Robena asked.

“That’s right,” Priscilla said with no small amount of pride. “Comes in handy around here, I don’t mind telling you.” She threw an exasperated look at her grandparents who were now tussling over a container of hair potion. 

Robena laughed. “I’m sure.” 

Priscilla picked up where her grandmother had left off, tallying the alarm clock. “Is this going on Mr. Malfoy’s account, then?” she asked, her eyes on the till. 

Robena frowned. “Erm—“

“You work for him, yes? That’s not Legilimency, just, you know, news traveling…” Priscilla looked at Robena from above tortoise-shell glasses.

“Oh. Yes, of course. Go ahead and put it on Mr. Malfoy’s account.” _That sadistic bastard owes me a new one at the very least._ Robena froze at the thought and immediately called to mind the first thing she could, which was the image of three fluffy white bunny rabbits chasing each other around a frozen log. She couldn’t afford to let anything slip with an inquisitive Slytherin Legilimens standing not two feet from her. 

Luckily, if Priscilla caught the malevolent rogue thought, she didn’t let on, now turning from Robena and pulling a burnished ledger book with _Ma – Oz_ written on the spine in golden ink. She opened it to the beginning and documented the sale with a quill, all while Robena let the three bunnies chase each other around and around in her mind’s eye. When Priscilla wrapped the clock neatly in brown parchment and Robena stepped back into the snow, she let out a breath of relief. She knew that Legilimency took concentration, even for those born to it, but still, it had been a close call. 

Robena tramped through the snow, the package under her arm, feeling tired suddenly, a bone-deep weariness of being paranoid of everyone all the time. For the first time since speaking with Georgina, Robena started to understand her perspective of not fully minding her banishment. And now Robena had to Apparate back to Malfoy Manor. Nonetheless, in considering the transaction with Priscilla Solomon, a part of Robena realized that everyone in Diagon Alley probably had a similar ledger book to the one in Solomon’s Sundries. She could probably charge whatever she wished, within reason, to Abraxas’ account and no one, least of all Abraxas, would care. 

Robena stopped in front of Flourish and Blott’s, practically drooling over the sight of Nicolas Flamel’s original _Alchemical Mastery_ first edition, which was proudly displayed in the window. Eventually, Robena tore her gaze away. No, she decided, she would take nothing from Abraxas that would imply any sort of debt to him. The alarm clock was different, as he had broken hers and any reasonable witch or wizard would agree that he owed it to her. 

After Robena gathered her suitcase and valise from behind the bar at the Leaky Cauldron, where barman Tom had agreed to keep them safe for her, she stepped back out into the gathering twilight. She took one more look at the brightly lit alley. Abraxas had told her that he would drop the wards on Malfoy Manor at six o’clock precisely, for three minutes and those only to compensate for variations in timepieces, so Robena could Apparate back in. Robena unwrapped the alarm clock and discarded the paper in a rubbish bin. She watched the glowing second hand move around, counting down. At fifteen seconds of, Robena drew her wand. When the second hand hit the apex, she closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and cast the spell.

Her feet left the snow and, not even a second later hit the marble floor of Malfoy Manor’s atrium. Robena opened her eyes and looked up. The unlit crystal chandelier loomed above her, the wall sconces as usual creating the only sources of flickering, guttering light. The dragons loomed on the pillars, staring down at her. Robena sighed. She was home. 

“Robena!” Robena turned at the voice, already smiling. “Miss March,” Lucius corrected himself, becoming solemn as Abraxas followed him into the atrium as well. As always, Abraxas looked impeccable in his black robes, the picture of decorum and, above all, control. Even so, Robena could see the subtle movement of the muscles in his clenched jaw and the ice in his eyes. His gaze moved immediately to the alarm clock clenched in Robena’s left hand and the wand in her right. 

Robena let her smile fade to a look of dignified respect. “I took the liberty of having the shop girl at Solomon’s Sundries put the alarm clock on your account, sir,” she said soberly. “I figured you wouldn’t mind, seeing as you were the one who broke its predecessor.”

Lucius looked up at Abraxas. “You broke Miss March’s alarm clock, father? But how funny…” He looked as if he was going to laugh, but caught his father’s unfriendly look and thought better of it.

“Yes, Lucius,” Abraxas answered, all while maintaining eye contact with Robena. “Such negligence was most careless of me and a mistake Miss March can count on me _never_ to repeat again.” He hissed this last and Robena looked right back at him evenly. For a moment, no one spoke. Indeed, the only sound was the ticking of the new alarm clock, echoing minutely in the vast space. 

Robena finally broke the silence, smiling brightly. “Well, I think we can both agree that I shall certainly need it if I’m to wake on time.”

“Just so, Miss March. Oversleeping can have such intolerable consequences, can it not?” Abraxas’ voice continued to carry an undertone of menace, but he smoothed it out with a cold smile.

“Oh, most assuredly, sir. One must always be efficient and quick, in body, in wand, and in mind. Moreover, I wouldn’t want to neglect my duties, would I, now that I’m back under your roof?”

Abraxas raised an eyebrow. “Why yes, Miss March, for a certainty you are at your most useful to the Malfoy family when you are dutiful.” 

Robena inclined her head modestly. “I can’t begin to tell you what your approval of my performance means to me." She didn't even bothering to keep the sarcasm out of her voice this time. Georgina would probably be horrified and tell her not to poke the bear. _Poke the serpent, more like,_ Robena thought. _Besides, I’m not her._ She turned her attention to Lucius. “I want to hear all about your holiday,” she said, sincere this time. She turned her attention back to Abraxas. “That is, if your father will consent to spare you.” 

Lucius looked at Abraxas hopefully. “Oh, may I, father? Please?” 

Robena continued to smile at Abraxas, who glared at her. Finally, he sighed. “Very well, Lucius, do as you will.”

“Thank you, father.” 

“Yes, thank you, sir,” Robena echoed. “Your tolerance is matched only by your generosity.” She knew she was pushing it, but couldn’t seem to help herself. 

“Both have their limits,” Abraxas said quietly.

“ _Everything_ has its limit, sir,” Robena snapped. 

“Come _on,_ Miss March,” Lucius said impatiently and with a child’s blithe unawareness of the situation. “I don’t have all night, you know.”

“Oh-ho, suddenly you’re busy and important?” 

“Always, Miss March, always,” he sighed with a dismissive wave of his hand. “As usual, you have no earthly idea…” He looked at his father for a moment. “Good night, father.” Lucius then led Robena from the atrium up the grand staircase. 

Robena could feel malevolent energy radiating off of Abraxas as she walked away from him, colder than the frigid air outside. Nonetheless, Robena could not help but smile at having the last word. She knew she should savor it as there was no doubt in her mind that while Abraxas’ retribution might not be swift, it would be certain, pitiless and possibly deadly.


	9. Ch. 26: Etiquette; Ch. 27: The Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Driven to distraction by the idea of catching the demiguise and plans for such, Lucius neglects his education, questioning the importance of certain aspects of it. Annoyed by Lucius' lack of discipline, Robena tasks him with taking these concerns to Abraxas. Abraxas gives Lucius some insight into why those aspects are crucial to learn, particularly for Lucius. Enlightened by Abraxas' perspective, Lucius agrees to re-commit. 
> 
> _Lucius stole a glance at his father, who sat with perfect posture. Lucius supposed Abraxas had never slouched a moment in his life, had always chosen the correct fork, and had never set a toe over the line between the refined and the bestial._ Unless he’s eviscerating a deer with Dark Arts, _Lucius thought, a juxtaposition that threw his father’s decorum into strange relief._

TWENTY-SIX: ETIQUETTE 

The fallow time after Christmas passed more quickly than usual for Lucius for one simple reason: his interest in catching the demiguise had become a full-time obsession, or as full-time as Robena would let it be. Although she seemed rejuvenated from her own holiday, Lucius knew that as of late he was trying her patience, driven to distraction with his demiguise-catching schemes. More and more, she would catch him daydreaming during their lessons and force him out of his reveries with a brisk snap of her fingers or, if she was particularly irritated, slamming a hardback book onto the table to startle him into compliance. 

Today was no different. It was the last week of January and Lucius stared at a point just beyond Robena’s right ear as he thought about whether it was less predictable to hide and catch the demiguise unawares, or, as he had discussed with his father, to earn its trust and then spring a trap. Thus far, his luck with the demiguise had been lackluster. He had exercised every ounce of his patience in the large upstairs drawing room, hiding in the closet, secreting himself behind the bookshelf, even going so far as to lie flat on his back under the divan. Lucius had stared at the brass nails binding the gold and green brocade to the underside of it for so long that he knew there were 227 of them. All any of this had done was result in a sore backside and three more of only the barest glimpses of the beast before it literally disappeared before Lucius’ eyes.

Lucius absently stroked his lower lip with the feather tip of his quill as he pondered his next plan of action. At this point, he wouldn’t have been able to tell even with a wand to his head if Robena was lecturing him on the specifics of magical history or the finer points of who should sit by whom at a wizarding banquet. “Well?” Robena finally said, an annoyed edge to her voice. 

“Erm, yes, of course,” Lucius took a wild stab at answering.

Robena sighed and set her own quill down. “It wasn’t a yes or no question, Lucius. When did I lose you? Speaking of Order of Merlin Third Class wizards and witches or members of the Wizengamot?”

Lucius stared at her blankly. He couldn’t recall either of those topics. He gave her what he hoped was an endearing smile. 

In response, Robena groaned, leaned her elbows on the table and rubbed her temples, her eyes closed. 

“I’m terribly sorry, Miss March,” Lucius said. "My mind has been elsewhere.”

Robena paused to glare at him balefully, her hands still pressed to either side of her head. “You don’t say.” 

Lucius sat up straight. “Well, to tell you the truth, I really don’t see how any of this is relevant to me anyway.” 

Robena dropped her hands. “Do you not?”

“No. It’s none of my concern where people sit.” Now Lucius covered up his ill behavior with resentment towards the subject material. Even as he did so, he knew it would bite him in the rear. He didn't have to wait long.

Robena looked concerned, but Lucius noticed that the corner of her mouth still turned up. “Perhaps you’re right,” she mused.

“Really?” he asked. “I mean, of course I am…”

Robena stood now and walked slowly to the window, clasping her hands behind her. “Well, I suppose it was inevitable…”

“What was inevitable?” Lucius tapped his quill lightly on the polished surface of the library table.

Robena turned to him now. “That the Malfoys eventually would cease to be the dominant wizarding family.” She smiled, but it was sad. “I just didn’t think the legacy would end with you, is all.” She shook her head. “A shame, really…Still, I suppose nothing lasts forever and there are those who will find it a relief, if truth be told.”

Lucius scoffed. She was playing with him, nothing more. “So, my family shall fall because I don’t know, nor do I care if the Order of Merlin Third Class sits next to or opposite from the member of the Wizengamot?”

Robena’s eyes crinkled. “Don’t be ridiculous, Lucius. Of course it won’t fall for something so trivial. Or, put another way, it won’t fall for _one_ trivial thing.” Her gaze drifted out the window for a moment. “One drop isn’t an ocean, after all.” 

“I don’t follow.” 

“Nor should you. None of this is important by your approximation, am I not correct?” Robena pointed her chin at the open books and piles of parchment on the table. 

“Well, I didn’t say that, exactly…” Lucius squirmed. 

“Actually, you did, Lucius, and to that end, how would you feel about going to your father and telling him that you find no value in the details of wizarding etiquette and that your governess teaching it to you is doing little more than idling away the precious hours.” The annoyed edge had turned now to one of frosty contempt, not too dissimilar to that of his father’s.

“You know I won’t do that, Miss March,” Lucius said quietly.

“Really?” Robena’s brows went up. “Whyever not, Lucius? Far be it from me to waste your time.”

Lucius winced at the sarcasm in her voice; he knew that he was the one who had truly been wasting her time, not the other way around. “I’ll not go to father about this. Pray continue, Miss March.” 

“But why should I? You find the subject tiresome and irrelevant.”

Now Lucius felt angry that she was making such a big fuss over it. “I already apologized, Miss March. Can’t you let it go?”

“No,” Robena snapped, her fists clenched and her shoulders tight. After a moment, she seemed to relax before looking at Lucius curiously. “Actually, Lucius, you’ve given me a good idea.” 

“I have?”

“Indeed.” Robena came back from the window and sat opposite Lucius once more. “It’s high time you understood your curriculum instead of merely following it or daydreaming through it.”

Lucius tilted his head back, letting his body slump in his chair. He groaned as he stared up at the molded ceiling. 

“No, no, it’s a good thing, Lucius. Hear me out.”

Lucius sat up. “I’d rather take any other punishment you’d give me, Miss March.”

Robena smiled at him. “Oh, make no mistake: there _will_ be consequences for your behavior of late.” Her smile faded into a look of intensity. “But no, this is far larger than that because you’ve told me the truth, that you don’t find this relevant, so let’s examine that, shall we?”

Lucius groaned again. 

Robena continued, undeterred. “Why is understanding and applying wizarding etiquette important for you of all people?”

“Because I’m as good as a Galleon,” Lucius said tonelessly. 

“How delightful that you think morality and etiquette are somehow linked.”

“What?”

Robena shook her head impatiently. “Never mind. At this point, you’re polite because the people bringing you up have taught you that being good equates to being polite and vice versa. However, as you grow older, you’ll start to notice that morally reprehensible people are plenty polite, especially in the circles that you move in.” 

Lucius leaned his head on his hand, elbow on the table. “So why do we bother with any of it?” 

“Ah, finally a relevant question.”

Both were silent for a moment. “You’re not going to answer, are you?” Lucius asked.

Robena shrugged. “I’ll answer your question with another. What sets the Malfoys apart from everyone else?”

Lucius smiled. “Money.”

“Accurate, but also lazy. What else?”

“We’re at the top of the wizarding world because we don’t let anyone outmatch us.”

“That’s your father’s answer. What’s yours?”

Lucius let out a deep exhalation. “I give up, Miss March. Regardless of what you say, it seems like a waste of time.”

“Very well, Lucius. You may give up on one condition.”

”Six feet of parchment on seating etiquette at a wizarding banquet?”

“I was going to say four as punishment for your lack of attention but you may do six if you prefer.”

Lucius made a face but said nothing. There was no way Robena would allow him to an inch less than six feet now that he had been the one to suggest it.

“No,” Robena said. “The condition is that now you _must_ take the question to your father. After all, he may be able to explain it better than I and perhaps even give you an historical perspective about your family specifically. After all, my sole concern is in carrying out the curriculum that he set forth and approved, which, regrettably for you, includes wizarding etiquette. Thus, you must seek out the source and report back to me.”

Lucius smiled craftily. He could just as easily make up something as not.

Robena held up a hand. “And before you consider lying to me, bear in mind that your father and I discussed your education at length at the dawn of my tenure here at Malfoy Manor and continue to discuss it periodically.”

Lucius felt the smile slide from his face. “Oh, very well,” he said. “Are we finished then?”

Robena nodded. “For the nonce. But, because of my releasing you early today, all of this shall be due to me Monday first thing. That gives you two and a half days, time that is more than fair.”

“As you wish, Miss March.” Lucius was already standing and stacking his books and quill neatly, eager to run off to see if he could find the demiguise today. 

“Until Monday then,” Robena said.

Lucius nodded to her and then beat a hasty retreat before she could add anything else. He spent the next few hours skulking about the great drawing room. It was all for naught, and when the shadows started to move across the floor from the light from the windows, he hadn’t even caught a whisper, much less a glimpse of the elusive creature. He began to wonder if the demiguise had escaped Malfoy Manor completely. The thought saddened him. Still, Lucius supposed it would serve him right for not even beginning to unlock the riddle.

Giving up for the day, Lucius measured the steps back in the direction of the library, his feet heavy as they echoed in the hall. Abraxas was due back that evening, but at that moment, Lucius felt like a ghost in his own home, and equally bored and dissatisfied. He stopped at a window and looked out into the small courtyard with its frozen fountain. Snow blanketed the ground, but none was falling, nor was there a breath of wind. Everything outside was still, as if time itself was suspended. Nonetheless, Lucius estimated he had maybe an hour of daylight left and he intended to go outside and use it despite the cold.

He went back to his room and found his hunting gear. Even though it was non-magical, it would do for his intended purpose. _Also, it’s the only hunting gear I’m ever likely to have,_ he thought bitterly. Lucius donned it along with his leather vambrace on his left arm and cut through the courtyard to the armory. Now that he could successfully string his own bow, he could at least engage in target practice, something his father encouraged even to the degree of magicking a circle onto a tree behind the armory for this very purpose. 

Lucius opened the door to the armory and stepped inside. The deer that they had brought back on the solstice was long gone. Its rack still sat on the bench though, most likely because Abraxas had not had a chance to move it yet. Lucius knew that he would add it to the Fell Circle at some point, but wasn’t sure if Abraxas would just toss it to the top of the fence, or if there was some sort of ritual involved. Despite his curiosity, Lucius didn’t dare ask. Instead, he ran his fingers over the bumpy surface of the antlers, touching each of the six points almost compulsively. 

After a moment, he got down his bow. Tongue between his teeth in concentration, he repeated the sequence of steps that his father had shown him. Lucius had successfully strung the bow before then, but it was still difficult, taking all of his strength to bend it down to him. It took him three tries to slip the string on but he finally managed it. Setting the bow down on the pocked table, he removed one of the broadheads they had used from its shelf. He looked at it, appreciating the form of those three deadly edges that worked in tandem to sever vital blood vessels, ending the animal’s life when used properly and, even better, strengthening the Mars line. 

Lucius knew that even though the curse used to make them Final Arrows broke at sunset on the day it was cast, he should avoid touching the sharp blades that comprised the hunting tip. Lucius had asked his father once if the Dark Arts powering the Final Arrows could ever be made permanent. His father had smiled enigmatically. _That sort of magic takes tremendous energy and involves sacrifices that I’m not willing to make._ As usual from Abraxas, the answer was neither a _yes_ nor was it a _no_. Lucius knew that some story powered this enigmatic answer, but also knew it was futile to try and pry it out of his father. Abraxas would tell him in his own time and only if he willed it.

With a sigh of regret, Lucius replaced the hunting arrow and instead got out about a dozen practice arrows with their single, blunted tips and placed them in a quiver before slinging it onto his back along with his bow. He then headed out into the field behind the armory. Lucius breathed in deeply. The cold had never repelled him, as it did some people. What he found instead was that it cleared his head and quickened his wits. It was hot weather he found intolerable, dulling his senses and putting him in a stupor. 

No, the cold was far preferable. Lucius let out his breath, watching it make a cloud. When it dissipated, he could see the target tree. Lucius unslung his bow and took out an arrow. He nocked it, took a deep breath and started to draw. _Use your back, not your arms, Lucius,_ his father’s voice now came back to him. Obedient to his father even without him there, Lucius drew his shoulder blades together, feeling the tension increase in the bowstring as he drew the arrow back. 

Once in place, he sighted down the length, to the circle on the tree in front of him. He narrowed his focus until all he could see was the red circle. Lucius stilled himself so much that he could feel his own heart beating within his chest. Then he released. And missed. Although the arrow had hit the tree, it had buried its tip just outside the red circle. Lucius swore, reflecting briefly that in this field by himself, no one could stop him from using profanity. The idea warmed him and he grinned and swore a second time. He then drew again and shot. And then again. And then again, until his 12 arrows were gone, some within the red circle, some without.

When his father had first taught Lucius how to shoot, he had been surprisingly patient. In fact, he had been far gentler on Lucius than Lucius had been on himself. "Think of it as filling up a one-hogshead cauldron with a one-drop pipette," Abraxas had said. “Each arrow you shoot is one drop. On its own, it is seemingly insignificant. Even 100 drops shall barely wet the bottom. Nevertheless, over time, even a cauldron of that size shall fill, even overflow. Such is the nature of any skill of which mastery is achieved through consistent and disciplined practice.” 

Lucius trudged to the tree and recovered his arrows and then returned to his shooting point to start over again. He fired the first arrow. _Drip,_ he thought. Another. _Drip._ Three more. _Drip, drip, drip._ He walked back to the tree, then back to his starting point. The sequence became meditative and rhythmic. Over time, he found that his aim improved, that more arrows landed in the circle than out of it. As the light started to fade, Lucius' arms and shoulders started to fatigue, his hands shook and his aim eventually deteriorated. 

He had one arrow left in his quiver. Lucius drew this last out, nocked it, and loosed it. It clipped the tree and skittered off to the side, landing with its brown mottled fletching protruding from the snow. “Merlin-damned mother of all shit and piss,” Lucius said, enunciating every syllable in his frustration. Before he could get his arrows, a thirteenth flew straight at the target, hitting it dead center. Surprised, Lucius turned around in time to see his father lower his bow. Not for the first time, Lucius thought that Abraxas would be useful in battle, if people still fought wars with such weapons. It certainly wouldn’t do to have him as an enemy at any rate. 

“You should watch your language, Lucius,” Abraxas greeted him. “You never know who might be about. Furthermore, if _I_ ever hear such vulgarity from you again, I'll exercise my severe displeasure upon your person.” 

Lucius felt heat rise to his cheeks. “Sorry, father,” he muttered. “I truly thought I was alone.”

Abraxas rewarded him with a cold look. “Your lack of situational awareness will not excuse you now, nor will it ever.”

Lucius licked his lips and opted to change the subject. “Actually, father, I’m glad you decided to join me as I could use your counsel.”

Abraxas raised an eyebrow. “Is that so? In what matter?”

Lucius felt the corner of his mouth turn up. “Etiquette.”

Abraxas sighed lightly, but Lucius could have sworn he caught a spark of amusement in his father’s eyes. “Go and fetch the arrows, Lucius.”

TWENTY-SEVEN: THE GAME

The Malfoys dining together was a rare occurrence. Abraxas traveled often and would spend days and occasionally weeks away from Malfoy Manor. Furthermore, when he was around, he had an unending stream of correspondence that consistently required his attention. This usually necessitated that Abraxas dine late and alone. After the conversation about the subject in the autumn, Lucius suspected that this was the true reason for the Manor’s free-standing Owlery. So many birds traveling hither and yon at all hours would have been untenable in the long run if their ancestors were anything like Abraxas. 

Even with just the two of them, Lucius knew that his father expected him to dress for dinner. Upon re-entering his bedroom, Lucius shed his hunting gear. He went to his wardrobe and selected a set of robes in dove-gray felted wool with matching waistcoat and trousers, perfect for the drafty dining room and elegant in their clean lines. A pair of highly-shined black shoes completed the ensemble.

Inasmuch as Lucius failed to understand the point of etiquette in general, he didn’t mind dressing up. Even if it was just for his father, looking sharp made Lucius feel important and strengthened his confidence. Once he finished, he stood in front of the mirror and appraised himself as he buttoned the cloak. The gray matched his eyes and his white blond hair caught the light from the lamps. Lucius smiled at his reflection and turned his head to the side. His hair had grown long enough to brush the top of his collar. Father wouldn’t take kindly to that, as the length of Lucius’ hair had always been a contest of wills that Lucius was determined one day to win. For the time being, however, Abraxas got his way and made Lucius keep it conservatively short, or shorter than Lucius would have liked it.

Satisfied with his appearance, Lucius left his room and set off down the grand staircase to the first floor, where he entered the dining room. The roaring fire in the massive fireplace, flanked by twin Roman-Tuscan columns did little to assuage the austerity and general gloominess of the room. With its ornately carved, high-backed matching chairs, long black table, and towering silver candelabras, the décor hardly suggested warmth and companionship. No, this was a room for impressing and intimidating people. Even though Lucius had been around it his entire life, it didn’t mean that he cherished spending time there. 

Lucius glanced at the mantel clock, which currently read five minutes before six. Lucius let out a sigh of relief he hadn’t even been aware he had been holding. He knew from experience that nothing would sour his father’s demeanor more assuredly than tardiness. Lucius quickly sat down in his place, to the right of the table’s head. The fact that it put his back to the door always bothered him, but there was little he could do about it. Knowing Abraxas, it was deliberate, no doubt a lesson for Lucius in remaining acutely aware of his surroundings, relying on other senses besides sight. 

With that in mind, Lucius put his hands in his lap and closed his eyes, listening intently. He breathed in and out slowly, similar to what he had done earlier that day in preparation for shooting the target. After a few moments of this, he heard his father’s footfalls growing closer. If he really concentrated, Lucius could tell that his father was still in the atrium, as his footsteps echoed in the larger space. When Lucius could no longer hear the echo, he stood and turned. 

His father walked through the door. He wore black robes, as usual, trimmed in navy blue this time. Lucius looked carefully, noting that Abraxas’ wand was sheathed in the left interior pocket of his undercloak. Besides observing his surroundings carefully in all environments, when seeing someone, particularly for the first time, Abraxas had been teaching Lucius how to deduce where they kept their wand. _A wizard or witch will always protect their wand, Lucius,_ he had said, _and thus they will have some sort of a tell._ It was typically subtle and Abraxas was no different. The only way that Lucius knew was in the way that Abraxas moved his cloak out of the way as he sat down at the head of the table: his left hand lingered a split second longer than his right on his torso.

“Sit,” Abraxas said, giving Lucius a perfunctory glance.

Lucius did as he was told. He spoke not a word, knowing that he must keep his silence until Abraxas gave him leave to speak. This gave Lucius pause today of all days, as he now found himself pondering the meaning of all of his actions, these iron-clad rules that he had followed his entire life, and yet did not see fit to question until today. Nor had Lucius ever truly considered how damned many of these rules there were: dress for dinner. Sit to father’s right, but walk to his left and half a step behind him. Speak only when spoken to. Keep one’s hair short enough not to touch one’s collar. Use the correct fork. Say _if you please, by your leave, as you wish, pleased to meet you, beg your pardon…_ Who had made all these rules? And who did they ultimately serve? 

Lucius stole a glance at his father, who sat with perfect posture. Lucius supposed Abraxas had never slouched a moment in his life, had always chosen the correct fork, and had never set a toe over the line between the refined and the bestial. _Unless he’s eviscerating a deer with Dark Arts,_ Lucius thought, a juxtaposition that threw his father’s decorum into strange relief. Moving with his usual efficiency and grace, Abraxas drew his wand from his left interior undercloak pocket, giving Lucius a tiny spark of pleasure at his correct guess. Abraxas performed the wandwork to make the meal the house elves had prepared appear on their plates.

The house elves had prepared roasted pheasant with a glaze of honey and butter, an animal that Lucius suspected had run afoul of one of his father’s arrows. There were also rolls still warm from the oven, and sautéed greens. _Never mind,_ Lucius thought, closing his eyes inhaling the savory smells with rapture, _I love this room._ When he opened his eyes, he saw that his father had started, so mercifully knew that he, too, could enjoy his own dinner. 

Throughout the repast, Abraxas said nothing, and thus, neither did Lucius. After pudding had been served, a custard tart garnished with white and dark chocolate shavings, Abraxas took a sip of wine and eyed Lucius. “So, etiquette,” he said. “Was this a general inquiry or did you have something specific in mind?”

Lucius looked regretfully at his plate, empty but for a few crumbs. He could have easily eaten three more pieces. Instead, he looked back at Abraxas. “It was a general wondering, father.” He squirmed, wanting to give his questions some context, and yet not wanting to admit his negligence in his studies. “We—that is, Miss March and myself—were speaking of banquet etiquette today, whether a member of the Wizengamot sits next to or across from an Order of Merlin, Third Class.”

Abraxas waited a moment before answering. “Even though there are those who will say that one no longer considers blood status in the equation, it does change the rules.” 

Lucius frowned. “Miss March failed to mention that.”

Abraxas smirked. “Imagine my surprise. Ordinarily, the member of the Wizengamot sits in the place of highest prominence versus the Order of Merlin Third-Class wizard, which would be in the place closer to the head of the table. However, if the Third-Class Order of Merlin is a pureblood, and the member of the Wizengamot is a Mudblood, the Order of Merlin takes precedence. If the member of the Wizengamot is a half-blood, the protocol becomes somewhat murkier, but the general understanding is that it shall be as the host wills it.” 

“Oh,” Lucius said. He now had a vague recollection of Miss March saying something very similar. “She may have said that; I don’t remember.”

“Were you not paying attention?” 

Lucius cringed internally at his father’s astute guess. “Well,” he evaded, “It is all quite confusing and there are simply too many rules.”

One of Abraxas’ eyebrows crept up. “Are there? Is that what your extensive life experience has led you to conclude?”

Once again, Lucius felt heat rise to his face. He pushed on anyway. “Why are there so many rules, father?”

Abraxas picked up his wine glass and gently rotated it. “What did Miss March tell you?” As usual, he colored his words with disdain where Robena was concerned.

“She said that my not knowing wizarding banquet etiquette could cause the downfall of the Malfoy family.” 

Abraxas grunted. “I see.” 

Lucius sighed, seeing no way around the next bit. “I told her that I didn’t believe her, that I didn’t see the purpose of etiquette. She tried to explain, but eventually gave up. Finally, Miss March said to ask you, as you could give an historical perspective that would pertain specifically to our family.”

Abraxas absorbed all of this silently, his face betraying nothing, although Lucius would hardly expect him to admit that Robena was right about anything. He studied Lucius. “Do believe that our family stands above others?”

“Of course, father.”

“Why?”

Lucius pondered this series of questions so like the ones that Robena had put to him. Somehow he didn’t believe that the answer of _money_ would satisfy Abraxas any more than it had Robena. “Our lineage?” 

Abraxas extended a finger at Lucius above the gilded rim of his wineglass. “That one is a given, Lucius. Anything else?”

“Our wealth?” 

Abraxas smiled slightly. “Such a crude answer, Lucius. But yes, partially. Any other attributes that set us apart?”

“Not allowing anyone to outmatch us?”

Abraxas took a sip of wine and then set the glass on the polished black surface of the table. He folded his hands in front of him. “None of your answers are wrong, per se, but they also fail to encompass the entire picture.”

 _A drop is not an ocean,_ Lucius thought.

Abraxas continued. “The reality is that these aspects and the fact that we excel at them allow us to set a standard-- _the_ standard—that other wizards can only hope to emulate.” He extended his fingers. “Consider this standard as a wall that we and our ancestors have been and continue to build. Now, walls afford protection and keep out any that we would not wish to include. The aspects that you mentioned: our wealth, our sacred bloodline, our cunning; these all are the bricks that give the wall structure. That said, what do you suppose encompasses the mortar binding those bricks together and giving the wall strength?”

“Etiquette?” 

Abraxas inclined his head. “Of course. Time-honored rules of behavior that let everyone know exactly where they stand in society. Because we happily find ourselves at the apex, it is paramount that we understand and adhere to the rules, _all_ of the rules, not just of our class, but of all the others. Moreover, little puts people at their ease and fosters trust more than being treated politely. And, because we are purportedly ruthless, stopping at nothing to get what we want, at all times we must be unassailable. So, etiquette is not just about setting a standard, but about survival.”

Lucius felt a small smile pull at the corners of his mouth. “Wouldn’t that make us predictable, father?”

“Not entirely. If we give the appearance of model behavior, then no one would believe it of us if we operate outside of the margins of what is considered lawful.”

Lucius’ mind went immediately to the cursed arrows. “Like practicing Dark Arts?”

“Precisely.” 

Lucius felt his smile widen. “So all of it’s a sham?”

Abraxas leaned back, matching Lucius’ smile with one of his own. “Not a sham, Lucius. It’s more like a game, a game of duality that we have always excelled at winning.”

”Wow,” Lucius breathed. Robena was right; Abraxas could indeed put it into a perspective specific to the Malfoys. 

Abraxas stroked his chin lightly with his fingers. “So, Lucius, would you like to play the game and triumph at it as well?”

Lucius nodded fervently. “Absolutely, father. I should like that above all things.”

“Excellent,” Abraxas said softly. “You’re excused, Lucius.”

“Thank you, father. Good night.” Lucius’ heart felt light. He put his napkin back on the table, stood, and made his way to the door. Before Lucius exited, Abraxas called him once more.

“Lucius?”

Lucius turned around. “Yes, father?”

“I’m certain I can count on you in this matter.”

“Of course, father.”

”And that you won’t let me down.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, father.”

Abraxas nodded. “Very well. Out you go.”

At the threshold, Lucius turned back to look at Abraxas, finding him staring into the fire, once again swirling his wine glass, the small smile still on his face.


	10. Ch. 28: Fauna Esoterica; Ch. 29: The Siren

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In completing his assignment on etiquette, Lucius finds an unusual book in the library, a book that sheds light on both the demiguise as well as the siren. Armed with the book, a pocket knife, and his own Malfoy blood, Lucius returns to the Fell Circle, determined to get some answers out of the siren. The outcome is not what Lucius expects as he quickly gets in over his head. 
> 
> _Lucius shook his head dismissively. He wasn’t going to get into trouble, not this time. Malfoy blood, of which he had plenty, compelled all of the statues eternally, even the dangerous ones. He had nothing to fear._

TWENTY-EIGHT: FAUNA ESOTERICA 

The morning following his talk with his father, Lucius summoned Dobby and made him cut his hair. Luicius watched the pale strands fall to the checked marble tiles of his bathroom, stark against the black and all-but invisible on the white. After he was finished, Dobby brushed off the back of Lucius’ neck. “Will that be all, Master Lucius?” he asked. Lucius considered his new look in the mirror; Dobby had cut his hair like Abraxas’, close on the sides and slightly longer on top, but still shorter overall than Lucius typically liked it. It made his face more angular as well as older. Nonetheless, good or bad, there was no going back now. _Mortar for our wall,_ Lucius thought.

“No. Clean up the mess. I shouldn’t have to tell you that.”

“Very good, Master Lucius.”

Lucius rolled his eyes and then stepped around Dobby. He would have liked just about any other house elf to cut his hair, but Dobby really was the best at it, although in every other possible aspect, he was the worst of their house elves, negligent, lackadaisical, and way too talkative. At one point, Lucius had even brought up to Abraxas the idea of giving Dobby clothes. Abraxas immediately shook his head. _He knows far too many family secrets and dismissing him merely because he irritates you would cost us face. Besides, we can correct him in other ways._ Since then, Lucius had treated Dobby with chilly contempt and, if he was feeling particularly vexed and thus vindictive, would frame Dobby for some of his own minor crimes. 

Today Dobby had not earned anything so harsh, nor had Lucius committed any infractions for which he needed a whipping elf. Besides, he had things to do. It was Saturday, and Lucius had the entire day to spend as he saw fit. Of course, at some point over the weekend he would have to write six miserable feet of parchment about banqueting etiquette. Lucius sighed as he walked down the hall. _I may as well get it done sooner rather than later,_ he thought as he let his feet carry him to the library. The weather had turned dismal. The snow had given way to freezing rain that not only had melted the snow, but turned the meadow and grounds into a disagreeable mud slick, making the library a reasonable destination

Lucius spent the morning poring over books with titles like _Wizarding Titles and Peerage Through the Eons_ and _Merlin Minded his Manners: Ritual and Regulation in Wizarding Etiquette._ Slowly, his parchment grew. Even though it was dry fare, he persevered, his mind and heart still ringing with the quest Abraxas had lain at his door. Also, occasionally the book would yield up an interesting anecdote to illustrate a point.

Close to lunchtime, Lucius finally got to the last line. He set his quill down and used his left hand to massage his right forearm and wrist, which burned with weariness from his academic endeavors. His six feet of parchment looked like a tiny road running away from him down the table to disappear over the edge. While he waited for the ink to dry, Lucius closed his resource books and gathered them together. He stood, stretched his back, and carried his books back to their respective shelves. Although he could have had a house elf do this for him, he knew that Robena frowned on it. Finding and replacing books was part of the lesson and Lucius knew it.

Also, the simple task just wasn’t worth summoning a house elf; even for Lucius it seemed overly petty. Thus, Lucius put each book back in its proper place. Eventually he got to the last book, _1,001 Rules for a Successful Soiree: An Up-to-the-Minute Guide to Wizarding Customs and Courtesies_. The book hadn’t been up-to-the-minute since its publication in 1935, but had nonetheless yielded up some useful information. Lucius separated its two shelf companions carefully with his fingers and started to slide the book back into its place. It tuck about three inches in and refused to go in further. Lucius frowned and tried again. It was no use; something else was impeding the book’s movement.

Lucius took the book back out and reached his hand in, immediately perceiving the problem. Someone had wedged a book behind all of the others. Tongue between his teeth, Lucius carefully drew it out and looked at it. It was an old, green, cracked volume that looked like maybe it was made out of alligator or possibly snakeskin. The edges of the pages were marbled green and black and Lucius had no doubt that it had been a handsome artifact at one point. Curious now, Lucius absently returned _1,001 Rules for a Successful Soiree_ to its place, where it now slid in easily. He then turned his attention back to the new book, flipping it over to read the title. Embossed on the front of the book in tarnished gold Old English font were the words _Fauna Esoterica_ along with an engraving of a serpent eating its own tail. 

When Lucius opened the front cover, he felt his eyes widen. Written on the green marbled front end-paper in gold ink was an inscription: _December 25, 1951. Presented with love and affection to my dear husband Abraxas Malfoy on our first Christmas as man and wife: may this volume further and expand your understanding and regard for all creatures. May you cherish and value it, always, as I cherish and value you. Your devoted wife, Laila Bulstrode Malfoy._ Lucius swallowed hard, the words blurring in front of him. He blinked a few times before carrying the book over to the window seat, reading and re-reading the inscription.

Lucius settled into his nook comfortably while the rain continued to beat against the windows, fascinated by his new find. For as long as Lucius could remember, he had never seen anything like this leftover from his parents’ time together before Laila’s life ended and Lucius’ life began. In fact, Lucius could count on one hand the times that Abraxas had ever talked about Laila. Every time Lucius brought her up, Abraxas’ mouth would twist with bitterness and when he had drunk too much, he had no compunction in implicating Lucius in Laila’s death, particularly on Lucius’ birthday. Lucius learned from a very young age not to bring it up.

Not that any of it staunched Lucius’ curiosity about his late mother. Even though he had only known her for an instant his primitive brain couldn't even imprint at the time, he still missed her and, when his father was at his worst, Lucius couldn’t help but wonder what life would have been like with her around. The only person that Lucius could possibly ask was Druella Black: Bellatrix, Andromeda, and Narcissa’s mother. Lucius knew that his own mother and Druella had been close before Laila’s death, and thus Druella had always been generous in answering Lucius’ questions. 

Although Lucius was fully aware that Abraxas did not approve of this arrangement, it didn’t stop Lucius from making inquiries when he could. Nor did Abraxas stop Druella from indulging Lucius’ questions. Ultimately, Abraxas must have realized that there was little he could do about the situation without seeming overly cruel in the eyes of the respected Black family, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. Every time he caught Druella doing it, he would look at her--at both of them--with disapproval. For his part, Lucius would look back at his father guiltily, but Druella would remain cool, almost to the point of defiance and Abraxas would eventually give up and leave them to it.

Now comfortable, Lucius opened the book to the text. “Blessed Merlin, please don’t let this book be in Latin,” he muttered in sardonic prayer. He knew a few Latin words and speaking French helped, of course, but he had just spent the last few hours wading through the minutiae of etiquette so the last thing he wanted to do was flail about in another incomprehensible, desiccated book. Luckily, the text was in English, although an archaic form where the _S_ ’s looked like _F_ ’s. Lucius scowled at first, but got used to it soon enough. 

What was more difficult to get his head around was the abstract nature of the content itself. The only bit of luck that Lucius had at all was that the demiguise was first in the book. This surprised him, as most books about animals that he had read were either alphabetical or else organized by taxonomy: reptilians, avians, mammalians, etc. However, _Fauna Esoterica_ was, per the author Hesper Caine _arrayed per arithmantic taxonomy_ , and so the demiguise started the book because, _the Demiguise is represented by the number zero, the beginning and the end of all things as the Demiguise has no beginning and no end._

Lucius rolled his eyes. So, it was going to be one of _those_ ridiculous grown-up books, full of riddles that created more questions than they answered. Still, he needed answers badly, any kind of answers, so he pressed on, determined to get out of it what he could:

 _The literal meaning of this lies in the beast’s ability to disappear from sight at a whim: it has no beginning and no end because it is within the physical realm and yet without the physical realm. When it is visible, it exists, when it is invisible, it ceases to exist. Like all literal meanings, this is a concrete, childlike way of regarding this fantastical animal._ Lucius huffed, feeling put upon, as he had thought of the demiguise in Malfoy Manor in exactly these terms. When he could not see it, he simply assumed it wasn’t there. In fact, for all Lucius knew, the demiguise might be sitting three feet from him, watching him read. Lucius lifted his head up and looked into the library, holding his breath for a moment. Neither hearing nor perceiving a thing other than the slight ticking of the clock in the corner, Lucius relaxed and continued, feeling slightly foolish.

 _The metaphysical meaning of the mystical demiguise reaches a deeper level. Any magizoological treatise will delineate that the demiguise’s vision is precognitive: it visualizes the most likely course of events and then acts accordingly. This unique method of extrinsic and intrinsic perception is also represented in the endless loop of_ zero _. Does the event happen because the demiguise sees it or shall it occur naturally? Demiguises are not omniscient, but are prescient to an extent that catching them is exceedingly difficult. Thus, one must be open to all possibilities._

 _In pondering the nature of_ zero _itself, lesser minds have considered it to be empty, a lack of everything, when in fact the opposite is true: zero is infinitely full of possibility. Any course of action is available before it is actually committed, and once it is put forth into motion, the circle is irretrievably broken. In this way, zero is both nothingness and freedom, just as the demiguise is both present and absent. Even with its precognitive sight, the demiguise knows that all is possible due to its spiritual affinity with the number zero. The Major Arcanus of the demiguise is the Fool, who stands at the crossroads and must choose with love and trust. Spells associated with the Demiguise include Alohamora, the Disillusionment Charm, Evanesco, Fumos…_

Lucius put the book on his chest and yawned. _It might as well be written in Latin for all the sense that it’s making,_ he thought. He looked up at the window above his head, watching the raindrops chase each other as gravity took them on their path. When they had made their way to the bottom of the window, Lucius picked two more. On his third go-around, his eyes started to feel heavy. He closed them for what he thought was a moment, but must have started to drift off, because he twitched so violently that the book slipped off of his chest and landed with a thump on the floor.

Awake now in an irritable form of consciousness, Lucius picked up the book. It had flipped randomly to the middle and Lucius looked to where it had landed, on the number 11. Idly, Lucius glanced at the open page before doing a double take at the subject heading: _Number 11: The Siren._ Now fully interested once more, Lucius sat up and started to read. 

_The Siren, long considered to be the seductress of the aquatic realms, should be considered a temptation more of thought than of flesh._ Lucius shook his head. He had no idea what that meant. Brows furrowed, he read on. _Represented by the number of 11, the siren is the fauna of truth both dormant and active, both revealed and concealed. If the siren wishes to speak the truth, the bearer of these truths has no choice but to hear, even to the point of destruction or doom. By their very nature, these illuminations can only be learnt through sorrow. The siren’s truth always has a price, often one so dear that few can pay and live to tell the tale. Thus, whether or not the siren is truly omniscient is a question with no tangible answer, but what remains consistent is the siren’s commitment to balance._

Lucius set the book down and chewed his lip, thinking that if anyone would know how to catch the demiguise, it would be the one mythical creature that knew everything. If the siren knew all truths, why didn’t Father wake her more often and make her answer his questions? According to the dryad (who Lucius could admit was not the most reliable source), Abraxas only woke the siren to silence her, whatever that meant. Lucius looked out the window once more to the sodden grounds, the austere formal garden and the towering yew hedge bordering it. Beyond it lay the meadow, and then the forest, and then the Fell Circle, where the siren waited, eternal and silent in her marble form. Lucius squared his shoulders. Perhaps the time had come to induce her to speak. 

TWENTY-NINE: THE SIREN

After lunch, Lucius bundled up against the abysmal weather and walked over the meadow to the woods. The rain continued to fall, the temperature hovering right above freezing. Lucius carried his folding knife with him in one pocket and _Fauna Esoterica_ in the other. His boots squelched through the mud between the meadow and the forest, threatening to stick fast. The ground dried slightly as he moved under the cover of the trees, the leaf litter and broken branches now staunching the muck somewhat.

As Lucius traveled further into the forest, the rain abated, but a low-lying, icy mist had taken its place. Sounds were dampened and seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere at the same time. Lucius had traversed these woods countless times in his life, but never before had he harbored such a feeling of being watched. He wasn’t scared; this was Malfoy parkland, and he was one of the only two people to whom they belonged, but the feeling of being observed persisted, like an itch between his shoulder blades. 

He hadn’t been in the woods on this side of the property since his and Robena’s last, ill-fated journey into them before Christmas. As Lucius moved through the mist, his cloak catching on thistles and burrs, he felt ambivalent about not including her this time. Unfortunately, now she knew that Lucius was not permitted within the Fell Circle, and he did not want to risk her telling his father once more. Lucius stepped over a low-hanging branch. He realized that after what happened last time, Robena’s reporting of his illicit movements to Abraxas were less likely, but he also didn’t want to put her in that position again. _I’m excluding her for her own good,_ he told himself firmly and felt better right away for resolving this.

Lucius now stepped over more deadfall blocking a path almost completely obscured by partially rotted leaves, one branch grabbing his ankle and almost tripping him. He steadied himself on a tree trunk and reflected that although he sought to protect Robena by not inviting her along, it would have been nice and probably pragmatic to have a perfectly capable, reasonably clever, competently spellcasting adult witch along with him, to have his back should he get into trouble. Lucius shook his head dismissively. He wasn’t going to get into trouble, not this time. Lucius shook his head dismissively. He wasn’t going to get into trouble, not this time. Malfoy blood, of which he had plenty, compelled all of the statues eternally, even the dangerous ones. He had nothing to fear.

The Fell Circle came out of the mist suddenly in front of him, bringing Lucius up short. He stood still for a moment, catching his breath. In this part of the forest, there was no sound whatsoever. Lucius stopped breathing for a moment, and could even hear his own heart. If he really concentrated, he could feel the tingle in the air of ambient powerful magic. He started breathing again and wondered if the other ley line ran near the Fell Circle. There was only one way to find out. 

Lucius took a knee, regretting it immediately as the dampness from the ground went right through his trousers, chilling him. _What’s done is done,_ he thought grimly, closing his eyes and now removing the glove from his right hand and placing his palm flat on the ground. Lucius pulled his mind to the spot on his forehead between his eyes, blocking out any other thoughts that threatened to distract him from his task. As he had with the Mars line, he turned this focus into a ball of energy that he sent into the ground through his hand. 

It was easier this time than it had with the Mars line, perhaps because now Lucius knew how to do it. With his eyes closed, Lucius could see the ley line extending infinitely northwest and southeast, but it was wholly different than the Mars line. This one was significantly smaller, only pulsed faintly, and radiated an energy that seemed to stand in direct opposition from the Mars line. Where the Mars line had been crimson, this new ley line shone a soft gold; where the Mars line had been aggressive, this one was gentle; where the Mars line had been hot, this one was warm. 

_But weak, so much weaker than the Mars line…why?_ Lucius wondered. Were the binding spells of the Fell Circle drawing its power? By default, he found himself assuming that he could ask his father about it, but then he caught himself. Not only would that involve admitting to Abraxas that he had trespassed yet again into the Fell Circle and incurring what would probably be an even more severe beating, it wasn’t necessary, at least, not at this moment. 

Lucius stood and crossed the clearing to the Fell Circle. The mist drew in and out of the driftwood fence even though no wind stirred, almost as if the Fell Circle was breathing. Lucius took a deep breath himself and crossed the threshold. The circle of statues stood before him, now complete with the siren having re-joined its ranks. Lucius drew the pocket knife out and snapped it open with one deft flick of his wrist. He had had to practice the move over and over until he got it right, but it was a satisfying gesture when well-executed, and one that filled Lucius with assurance. 

The other thing that Lucius had done in preparation for coming to the Fell Circle was to sharpen the knife thoroughly. When he drew it in a straight line across the base of his thumb, it barely even stung, but blood immediately oozed out of the wound and dripped down his wrist. Lucius nodded in approval and walked into the center of the circle, crossing to the siren. She stood on her marble block, arms folded defiantly in front of her, a pose different from the last time Lucius had seen her. This was no surprise, as Lucius knew that Abraxas had temporarily removed her. Last time, the siren’s hands been lifted as if to ward off a blow. 

Lucius looked up into her face. It was a striking face, one of majesty and power. Lucius could admit that he had never really looked closely at this statue, having avoided it since he first discovered the Fell Circle in the prior year. He could feel blood dripping off of the tip of his thumb where his hand hung by his side. Lucius held it up next to the siren’s left arm, bare below her draped garments. He watched, fascinated, as a drop of his blood formed on the end of his thumb, becoming gravid before physical law exerted its will and the drop fell. It descended through the misty air and landed on the white marble, making an almost perfect circle of crimson on the siren’s forearm.

Lucius stepped back, his heart speeding up, as the marble statue slowly started to move, becoming flesh. He wasn’t sure why he was so nervous, or why he had even hesitated to awaken her. His blood was on her now; she was his to control. It was a heady feeling and Lucius allowed himself a small grin of triumph as the siren’s tumbling hair turned black and her eyes turned into a bright gold with green blazing around the pupils. The siren turned those remarkable eyes on Lucius now and stopped moving, just watching him.

She cocked her head to the side. “Hello,” she said.

Lucius frowned. She sounded perfectly normal. “Hello,” he responded. 

“You’re not him.” The siren smiled broadly, although her brows had knit as if she was slightly confused. 

“Erm, I’m Lucius." He was unsure of exactly how to proceed now that the siren had behaved in a way contrary to what he would have predicted. 

“Yes, I know this,” the siren said patiently. “You have his blood running through your veins, but you’re not him. You have his cruelty already seeded within you, but you’re not him. Eventually, your power, determination, ambition, and cunning will exceed even his, but, as I say, you’re not him. Not yet. Perhaps not ever.” She moved her head jerkily, her movements birdlike. “Now, if you _were_ him you would have taken certain precautions. Ones that you are too young and inexperienced to know about, much less take.” She smiled. “Lucky me.”

Lucius’ frown deepened. “Wait--precautions? What precautions?”

Now the corners of the siren’s eyes contracted with mirth. “Nothing. Forget I said anything.” She stepped off of her marble block and stood in front of Lucius. “How can I help you today?” 

Lucius paused. It was all so surreal, this creature that he had been taught to fear acting like the witch at the Information booth at the Ministry for Magic. “Do you know…how to catch a demiguise?” Now that it was out of his mouth, the question sounded silly to Lucius’ ears.

“Yes.” The siren folded her arms once more, waiting now with a cocked eyebrow.  
Lucius waited too. “Was that everything?” the siren asked.

“Well, are you going to tell me how to do it?” Lucius asked, exasperated. She, then, like some of the fae creatures, took things literally.

“No.”

Lucius sighed. “How do you catch a demiguise?”

The siren smiled. “I know everything, you realize.” She stretched luxuriously, her arms now over her head. 

“Yes, that was rather the point of waking you up,” Lucius snarled. He was starting to question his own judgment in doing so. Still, he wasn’t going to give up that easily. After all, he’d come this far.

The siren relaxed her arms. “It’s a substantial gift, infinite knowledge,” she said loftily. “Of course I know how to catch a demiguise. I can even pass this knowledge onto you. I am the gatekeeper, after all.”

“So, tell me already.” Lucius hated feeling this ineffectual. “Please.”

“ ‘Please,’ he says.” The siren continued to sound insufferably entertained by Lucius. “You know your father has never once said that word to me. He just takes…and takes…and takes…” her voice drifted off and her eyes carried a far-away look as her smile faded.

“Yes, well…we’ve already established that I’m not him, so, if you’d be so kind, I would very much like to know how to catch the demiguise.” Lucius enunciated every word, summoning all of his patience. 

The siren looked at him sharply. “And I’d very much like for my wings to grow back, but it’s quite unlikely to happen. Besides, your etiquette is not going to be enough to purchase this knowledge from me.”

“Fine,” Lucius said through gritted teeth. “What is it going to take?”

“You must free me." The siren examined her fingernails. 

Lucius scoffed. “I don’t think so.”

“My eternal enslavement to the accursed Malfoy family is an amusement,” the siren said to no one in particular. “You must either free me or destroy me.”

Lucius folded his arms now, in a reflection of how he had found the siren. “I’ll do neither of those things. I’m sorry. It’s just the way things are.” Lucius knew that his father would kill him if he freed any of the Fell Creatures, particularly the siren.

“Then you shall go to your grave without your precious demiguise,” the siren said coldly.

Lucius felt the smile slip from his face. His blood felt sticky on his fingers. He pumped his fist a few times to get the flow going again and then held up his crimson-splashed hand. “Then I’m through with asking nicely." He matched her coldness with his own and took a step towards her.

The siren’s eyes widened, fixed on the blood. 

Lucius felt the thrill of command lance through his core. He smiled. “Yes,” he said softly. “You fear the Malfoy blood and you should.”

“Oh no, please, I beg for mercy." The siren fell to the ground with her arms extended in front of her on the damp ground as she prostrated herself in front of him. 

Her subjugation to him made Lucius’ heart sing. He dropped his voice and spoke slowly this time. “This shall be your last chance.”

The siren paused for a moment, seeming to writhe on the ground. She then got up with one fluid motion and stepped back, opening her hands towards him. Too late, Lucius realized that she had not prostrated herself at all, but had used the opportunity to wipe every trace of Malfoy blood from her body using the wet leaves strewn about the Fell Circle. Lucius’ stomach dropped.

The siren smiled in triumph and before Lucius could react, she spoke. _”Yours as well.”_ Her words felt like needles being forced into the base of Lucius’ skull, radiating agony down both arms and his spine. He dropped to his knees and put his hands over his ears. “How quaint that you think that’s somehow going to help.” Her voice penetrated Lucius’ mind as if the needles were on fire, each one finding a new spot to torture him. 

“Please stop." He voice sounded far away and yet echoed in his ears as he had tried to stop them with his hands. 

“When I have the sole heir to the Malfoy family at my mercy? To quote you, ‘I don’t think so.’” Now other voices seemed to join the siren’s, whispered voices, both male and female, out of time, not painful this time, but hypnotic. 

Lucius took his hands off of his ears and opened his eyes. The mist had swirled around the siren making it look as if her wings had grown back. Lucius started trying to get up.

“No, you stay down." Lucius felt her voice pushing between his shoulder blades, putting him on his hands and knees. The siren crouched down next to him and he brought his head up to look into her glowing golden-green eyes. “Now...what should I do with you?" 

Lucius gasped as the icy hot needles rammed back into his skull with each of her words. “Please stop…I’m not the one who did this to you,” he managed as a tear rolled down his face and then another. 

The siren watched them fall to join the dampness already on the ground. When she spoke next, every sound that she uttered drove the worst agony Lucius had ever felt deep into his skull, worse than anything that Abraxas had ever done to him. “None of that matters. All that matters is that you have the power to bring an end to it. Yes, you can end my suffering and enslavement, and thus your own as well. That is the only thing that you can do to make this stop.”

“Anything…”

There was a pause. “Reach in your pocket, Lucius Malfoy.” The pain stopped immediately and Lucius took a giant gasp of air. The siren’s voice had turned to velvet, an infinitely soft cushion that Lucius could sink into, where no one could ever hurt him again. Without hesitation, Lucius did as the siren bade him, his hand closing on his pocket knife. 

“Very good,” the siren purred. “Snap it open, like you’ve practiced so many times.”

A flick of the wrist and the blade was out. Lucius looked at it and saw the siren’s gloating face reflected in the flat of the blade. 

“Now, you weren’t going to give me a choice about the demiguise, just as your father doesn’t give me a choice about using me in his depraved rituals. So, I’m taking the choice away from you as well. But before I do, because we must maintain balance, I’m going to tell you the secret of the demiguise. You’ll not live long enough ever to use this information, of course, but here it is.” She leaned in, her breath tickling Lucius’ ear. She smelled of the ocean. “The secret...is Apollo Lovegood.” 

Lucius heart leapt for a moment, before he realized that she was likely feeding him nonsense. He tried to get up again. 

“I said, _stay down,_ ” the siren ordered and now the needle felt like she was shoving it directly into Lucius left ear. He wanted the velvet back. “You wanted to spill your blood on me, so here’s your chance to spill all of your life’s blood, end the Malfoy line and in so doing, free me.” she said in her soft, cocooning voice, the one that made Lucius want to curl up and sleep. She stood in front of Lucius, but because he was still on his hands and knees, all he could see were her bare feet, noting that they were lightly pebbled, like a bird’s. “I know you’ve sharpened that blade obsessively, wanting to be able to control me above all things, so this shouldn’t hurt a bit. Put the tip right under your right ear.”

Lucius’ heart raced and for the first time, he felt actual fear for his life, warring with the irresistible force of the siren’s true voice. He bent his right elbow up slowly, until he felt the sharp point of the knife underneath his right jaw, the soft skin just south of the mandible. “Very good,” the siren whispered, wrapping Lucius’ mind in layers of soft warmth. Lucius closed his eyes in rapture, not ever wanting her voice to end. “Feel the blade." Those layers now contracted on his psyche as she held him in thrall. Lucius could feel his carotid artery jumping and moving the knife millimeters back and forth in rapid tempo. “So sharp…so lethal…now, press it down.” Lucius turned the blade until he felt the keen edge slipping under his flesh. 

There was pain, yes, but it seemed like far away, like an insignificant annoyance, just like the blood that dripped rapidly onto the leaves in front of him. The sight was abstract, the red mixing with the water on the ground, finding the veins and channels in each leaf and following them into the ground. _Drip, drip, drip,_ he thought, like firing arrows into a tree, firing arrows into a deer, severing blood vessels, snuffing out life, strengthening the Mars line. 

“Now end it quickly,” the siren’s voice cracked like a whip. 

Lucius squeezed his eyes shut. _I’m sorry, Father,_ he thought as his fingers, wrist and forearm flexed with fatal intention.


	11. Ch. 30: Salvation; Ch. 31: Vascularis Immendo; Ch. 32: Counsel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abraxas arrives just in time to save Lucius from a terrible fate. They return to Malfoy Manor, but Lucius is in worse shape than either of the two of them had believed. Robena ponders the siren's riddle but an emergent call for help from Abraxas interrupts her. While Lucius rests, Abraxas asks Robena to try and find out why Lucius put himself in danger in the first place. That same night, devastated by how close he came to losing Lucius, Abraxas does his best to forget by seeking out Robena again, this time in an intoxicated delirium.
> 
> _Abraxas drained his drink, stood, and poured another before coming back over to the couch. He sat back down and stared into the fire, the glow of the flames casting shadows on his face. “You think I don’t love him.”_
> 
>  _“I never said that,” Robena said, relenting slightly._  
>    
> _“But you’re not denying it either.” Abraxas looked at her now._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Three pretty intense chapters coming at you. Lucius has a pretty rough evening. Actually, everyone does...

THIRTY: SALVATION 

Just as Lucius was about to drive the blade straight in and across, he heard a gasp and in an instant, his will was his own again. His eyes flew open in time to see the siren’s feet disappear from view, dragged violently backwards. When Lucius looked up, he saw that his father had grabbed the siren from behind. Abraxas had snaked one elbow around her neck and with the other hand he forced a curved piece of rune-engraved steel over her mouth, his own set in a grim line. Lucius sat back on his heels, his heart racing as Abraxas drew his wand and pointed it at the siren. “ _Crucio,_ ” he growled before shoving the siren away from him, hard.

The siren immediately fell onto the leaves but Lucius knew this time it was no act. Her back arched and her hands clawed futilely at the steel over her mouth, her fingers flexed like talons. Her eyes burned hatred at both of the Malfoys, even as the parts of her face not covered contorted in agony from Abraxas’ curse. Lucius shuddered, feeling blood running down his neck to soak his shirt underneath. In watching the siren, he realized that if the steel with its white-glowing runes was not in place to protect himself and Abraxas, her scream would kill them both where they stood. 

After what seemed like a lifetime, Abraxas broke the curse. The siren lay back on the leaves now, her knees drawn up and her chest moving rapidly up and down underneath her dark blue draped robe. She stared up at the sky above them, her eyes showing abject despair. “Lucius.” Abraxas’ voice caught Lucius out of his reverie.

“Father.”

“Put her back to sleep.”

Lucius’ insides quaked. He didn’t want anything more to do with the siren, not now nor ever. “Can’t you do it, father?” His own voice sounded pitifully small and weak in contrast to his father's, never mind the siren's.

Abraxas turned to Lucius, his jaw tight and fire in his own eyes. “Must I spell it out?” he asked, his voice deadly quiet.

“I just meant—“

“You’re bleeding from a wound inflicted by your own hand, a wound that would have been mortal had I not shown up at the opportune moment. You gave yourself this almost-fatal incision because of the actions of a creature that you woke above and beyond my express orders forbidding it.” He raised an eyebrow, his expression reading contempt. “Overall, your intention was to play the great man. Am I not correct? So then be the great man and finish the job.” He tilted his head at the siren. 

Lucius swallowed, the movement sending more blood cascading down his neck. He reached up and ran his hand over it, feeling with alarm how large and deep the cut was. Now he pressed his hand into it, both to collect some blood to put the siren to her rest, and to apply pressure to get the bleeding to slow. Lucius approached the siren and knelt next to her, his hand still on his neck. 

She turned her head to look at him. Her eyes didn’t carry hatred or despair now, but a knowing look that was somehow far worse. Her coy expression mocked Lucius, telling him that she had almost had him, that he was mere millimeters and seconds from completely and irrevocably succumbing to her power. In that moment, a cold rage unwound in Lucius’ abdomen, choking out any residual fear he felt towards her, much less the pity he had felt a few weeks before at the idea of her being hurt. Lucius took his blood-soaked hand off his neck and placed it on the siren’s throat, noting how perfectly her trachea fit into the _U_ of flesh running between his thumb and index finger. 

Lucius’ blood leaked between his fingers as he slowly applied pressure. “Laugh at me all you wish,” he whispered to her. “You shall remain under the power of the Malfoy family forever and next time I awaken you, we’ll see who has the control.” He wondered if he could kill her this way if he used just a bit more force…

“Lucius, that’s enough.” 

Once again his father’s voice cut through to him. Lucius released his hand, leaving his bloody hand print behind on the siren’s fair skin. “Sleep,” he intoned, before returning his hand to his own neck and standing.

The siren’s eyes glazed over and she, too, stood. “ _Lord and master, I rest,_ ” she responded, her voice sounding in its automatic ritual modulation even with the steel in place. She walked over to the blank marble block, stepped back onto it and turned around, her skin and hair already turning back to marble. This time, the siren rested with her arms by her sides, her fists clenched. Eventually, her entire form metamorphosed back to white stone, save for the hand-shaped splash of scarlet on the front of her throat. 

Lucius turned back to Abraxas, whose eyes still had not left the siren and, to Lucius’ surprise, showed an emotion Lucius had never glimpsed there: fear. “Father?” 

Abraxas turned his head sharply, regarding Lucius, his expression back to stern disapproval. He still had his wand drawn and for a moment Lucius feared that Abraxas would Cruciatus Curse him as well. “Move your hand so I can see, Lucius.” Despite any strain he might be feeling, Abraxas’ voice remained quiet and calm. 

Lucius did as he was told and immediately felt blood seeping down his neck once more. Abraxas looked at him in consternation. 

“Can you heal it, father?” Lucius asked anxiously.

“Yes, but it is sufficiently large and deep that I shall need assistance.”

“St. Mungo’s?” 

“No. They’ll ask far too many questions. We’ll need help from within Malfoy Manor.”

“Miss March?”

A grunt. “She’ll ask even _more_ questions.”

Lucius sniffed. “I can handle her, father,” he said with more bravado than he felt.

Abraxas smirked. “Can you indeed?” 

Lucius paused a moment. Now that the adrenaline was fading from his system following the ordeal, his neck was really starting to sting. “Perhaps not,” he finally admitted.

“Ah.”

“But she _can_ help, father. She’s quite clever.” _And I trust her,_ Lucius thought, although he didn’t dare add it.

“Rather.” 

Lucius marveled at how much sarcasm his father could generate from only two syllables. “Please?” he asked. “I don’t want a house elf anywhere near this…”

“Have it your way,” Abraxas said irritably. “Keep firm pressure applied to it until we can take care of it. Now, are you able to walk or must I Side-Along you like an infant?”

Lucius drew himself up, blinking against a sudden wave of dizziness that he quickly dismissed. He would have sooner fallen flat on his face than admit weakness from his error. “I can walk, father.”

Abraxas said nothing more, but turned from Lucius and walked out of the Fell Circle through the archway. Lucius followed him. Once outside, Lucius looked back, noting that the mists had closed behind him, leaving only the twisted shapes of the driftwood and antler fence. The fog now completely erased the shadows. Lucius turned and hurried to catch up with Abraxas. “Father?”

“What is it?” Abraxas sounded resigned, fatigued even. 

“How did you know I was out here?”

“A Dark Arts ritual.” Abraxas was keeping his answers terse, even for him. 

_Care to elaborate?_ Lucius wanted to ask, but he knew that he had never in his life been on such thin ice with his father. Instead, he tried another one of his father’s psychological tricks, that of repetition: “A Dark Arts ritual?”

“Yes.”

 _Damn it,_ Lucius thought. “Which Dark Arts ritual?" He justified his persistence with the fact that he couldn’t really get into much more trouble.

Abraxas sighed once more. A branch of deadfall blocked their path partially, angling down from where it fell into the ground. Abraxas lifted his foot and brought it down, cracking the branch in two. “Well, Lucius, your last incident with the Fell Circle led me to believe that you were not to be trusted.” Lucius’ heart sank with contrition, but he said nothing. 

Abraxas stepped over the broken branches. “As it turns out, my suspicions of you were justified. I punished you severely last time because I believed it crucial to relay to you the severity of the consequences in disobeying me. Perhaps after today you can see why. Unbeknownst to you, my punishment of you that night served another purpose entirely.” Abraxas paused and broke another branch that had fallen. “You see, I had to ensure that your blood spilled that night, as at that point I required it for the ritual that would ensure your safety, should you choose to awaken one of my creatures again. Do you recall what I said to you that evening when we were through?” 

Lucius thought back to the night Abraxas had beat him so mercilessly, the same night he had threatened Robena’s life, and the same night that she had almost left for good. His father had said, _I do this out of love, Lucius. Now you’re stronger, more prepared for what the world is going to throw at you, and most importantly, endowed with a bit more of the fortitude required to carry the Malfoy legacy. Be grateful._ As with so many things that Abraxas said, his words carried a double meaning. “You said it would make me stronger and that I should be grateful.” Lucius found that he still could not keep the bitterness out of his voice as he remembered.

“And so I did. After you left, I gathered all of your blood that I had spilt and performed a ritual specific only to our family, Periculosus Sanguinus Indicium, the Fell Blood Trace. When you are of age, I shall teach it to you as well.”

“All of this for me?”

Abraxas looked at him out of the side of his eye. “Don’t flatter yourself. It would reflect poorly on me indeed, should even a whisper of this leave Malfoy Manor. We can’t have it known that I have such a thing as a Fell Circle and that I let one of its most hazardous residents compel my heir into ending his own life, severing the Malfoy line, and escaping. I think we both know _that_ wouldn’t do at all.”

“Perish the thought,” Lucius muttered.

“Anyway,” Abraxas said pointedly as they now crossed out of the woods and into the meadow, where the mist had started to dissipate somewhat. “I performed Periculosus Sanguinus Indicium that very night, knowing full well that it was only a matter of time before your curiosity would get the better of you.”

“What does it do?”

“Each and every time anyone, yourself included, uses your blood to control one of my Fell Circle beings, I know about it instantaneously.” 

“Oh,” Lucius said, perturbed at the thought of his father going to all this trouble to keep tabs on him. It was yet another form of Abraxas’ control, and yet it had unequivocally saved Lucius’ life today. “Thank you,” he finally said. They now walked through the formal gardens. The temperature had dropped as the afternoon had advanced and the rain from earlier had turned back to snow. 

As they reached the back door, Lucius dropped his hand as his arm had started to go numb from holding it in the same position. It was a mistake because as soon as he did, blood started flowing out of the wound once more. Lucius’ vision narrowed to a point and he leaned over to put his head between his knees. That also was a mistake because now he could see his blood splashing onto the white flagstones of the terrace. It sounded as if someone had stuffed his ears with cotton wool. His field of view tightened. “Father." His voice sounded strange as it echoed in his head. 

“Lucius!” Even though Abraxas’ voice was far away, there was no mistaking the panic in it. Lucius felt strong arms scoop him up. “Keep your hand on your neck,” Abraxas ordered him.

Lucius tried, but his arm was so very heavy and he let it fall. Now he could see the hallway of Malfoy Manor, but upside down from his vantage point. As they rounded a corner, Lucius heard “Fetch Miss March at once to Lucius’ room,” no doubt a command from Abraxas to a house elf. “Tell her to bring Dittany if she has any; if not, fetch some yourself.” Then Lucius was moving once again, the hallway getting brighter and darker by turns as he slipped in and out of consciousness.

On one of the brighter passes, Lucius saw something that jolted him back to alertness. In his upside-down vision, he saw the demiguise, as clear as day. It stood in the middle of the hallway from which they had come. The creature had a cabbage in one hand, a leaf from the cabbage in the other, and another leaf dangling comically from its mouth as it watched Lucius and Abraxas. “Stop,” Lucius wanted to yell, but it came out as a feeble moan. “I want to catch the demiguise. It’s right…right…there. Apollo…Apollo Lovegood…” His voice faded out, but the demiguise had frozen in the middle of the hallway, so very close and yet so very far away. _Zero, the beginning and the end of all things,_ Lucius thought before darkness fell and he knew no more.

THIRTY-ONE: VASCULARIS IMMENDO

Robena watched from the window of her room as the freezing rain cascaded down, turning the ground to muddy slush and patches of dirty snow while darkening the stone exterior of Malfoy Manor. On this particular Saturday, Robena had little to do except watch the rain and reflect on the last few weeks since returning from Christmas holiday. As Georgina had predicted, Abraxas had not gone anywhere near her, nor summoned her. 

In fact, Robena enjoyed reasonably free rein on Lucius and she needed it lately, as he bent his energy and focus solely on catching the demiguise. If Robena was going to confront Abraxas about anything, it would have been that. Robena had since heard that Abraxas purchased the beast on the black market and then turned it loose in Malfoy Manor for Lucius to attempt to catch, likely casting some sort of retaining spell on the creature so it couldn't escape. 

Even thinking about it, Robena pursed her lips in disapproval. The demiguise was a wild and fantastical animal with no business spending its life indoors waiting for someone to catch it and kill it. It was one of those instances where she desperately wanted to intercede on the creature’s behalf and free it, but the problems with that scenario were legion. Robena traced the cold panes of glass in the window with one finger as she considered them. 

First, it would give Abraxas yet another reason to despise her. As Robena had told Lucius, it wasn’t as if she was overly concerned with his good opinion. Still, the fact remained that she was in Abraxas’ employ, which meant of course that he still had an inordinate amount of power over her. Second, Lucius would be devastated if the demiguise disappeared even though Robena did not think the odds of Lucius being able to catch it were very high, which brought her to the third problem. It would be no easier for her to catch the demiguise than it would be for Lucius. 

Robena had also convinced herself that when it came down to it, Lucius wouldn’t have the fortitude or _sang froid_ to kill the demiguise, which was unquestionably Abraxas’ intention. The demiguise represented yet another series of tests that Abraxas provided for Lucius to pass or to fail, and while there was a small ghost of a chance that Lucius could catch the demiguise, there was no chance as far as Robena was concerned that Lucius would be able to slaughter it. 

Robena sighed. Whether Lucius could catch the demiguise or not, the idea of doing so had completely consumed him. It made sense: as reprehensible as Abraxas was, Lucius clearly looked up to him and why wouldn’t he? If Abraxas had caught a demiguise and commissioned a camouflage hunting kit made from its pelt, then Lucius would settle for nothing less. So much the worse that it had been Abraxas himself who had set Lucius to this formidable task. Robena also suspected that the other reason for Lucius’ obsession was that the entire enterprise was a game to him, and he wasn’t wrong in this assessment. And again, like Abraxas, Lucius hated to lose. Regardless, never in her time as a governess had Robena seen a child put under so much pressure. 

Robena turned away from the window and looked about her room. Because it was Saturday, it was indeed the one day of the week that Robena didn’t have to worry about any of it. _Don’t deceive yourself,_ she told herself, _you’re going to worry about Lucius for the entirety of your tenure here._ She supposed she could have Apparated somewhere for a while, but she didn’t really have anywhere she needed or wanted to go. Besides, the weather definitely suggested a lazy sort of a day in.

 _Speaking of lazy,_ Robena thought, glancing at her suitcase, still partially packed from Christmas holiday weeks ago. She had taken most of her things out, but the books and miscellany still present were just one of those tiny chores that in reality would take less than a minute to complete, but just never seemed to get done. Now was as good a time as ever. Robena crossed the room to her suitcase and took the last few items out. As she did, a small piece of parchment fell out of one of her books and landed on the floor. 

Robena frowned. She set the book aside, picked the parchment up and unfolded it. _You are bound by duty. You are bound by love. You are bound by hate. I am bound by blood. We are bound by lovers two. Find me. Free me. I am your doom and your salvation._ Robena felt a quaver in her abdomen; she had forgotten about the siren completely, but now her dream came back to her in vivid detail, the giant serpent, the empty marble block, and of course, the cryptic words. 

Robena sat down. Now that so much time had passed with nothing threatening happening, she wondered if unraveling the mystery of the siren and what she represented was still a worthwhile way to spend her time and energy. _On the other hand, it’s not as if I have anything else to do,_ Robena thought, applying her intellect to the task and taking the riddle one line at a time. _You are bound by duty:_ that one was obvious. Robena had entered into an implicit contract with the Malfoy family that she would govern Lucius as long as the situation remained tenable for all involved.

 _You are bound by love,_ was the next line, which no doubt meant the familial love between Robena and Lucius. Had anyone asked her, Robena would have denied it out of professionalism, except that, as Druella had pointed out, Robena knew would be deceiving herself if she believed there were no such bonds between herself and Lucius. Since Christmas, Robena had started to realize that she was closer to Lucius than she was to her own biological family, in many ways having more in common with the Malfoys than with the Marches. It was a disconcerting thought. 

_We are bound by lovers two._ Robena paused at this one, wondering if it was an abstraction, that the siren was somehow bound by love and duty as well. Robena somehow doubted that this was true and dismissed it, which meant that what remained was the literal meaning, that Robena and the siren had both engaged in sexual congress with the same two men: Francois and Abraxas. Of course, the siren had used the term _lovers_ with only the utmost irony.

Since the night of the party, Robena knew that she had been avoiding the truth: Abraxas' mysterious secret society had compelled Francois to rape the siren as part of the Oath of Obedience or whatever it was. _No, not compelled. He always had a choice,_ Robena amended, feeling her jaw clench. She didn’t want to believe it, but the reality had been staring her in the face even without the siren’s message. On the eve of the solstice, Francois hadn’t wanted or hadn’t been able to continue their dalliance far enough to sate his own desires. Later, Abraxas had asked him point blank and with Veritaserum on board if he had saved himself for the ritual, to which Francois had answered in the affirmative. Robena swallowed hard and moved on to the next line.

 _Find me. Free me._ Of all of Abraxas’ creatures, the siren yearned for freedom most of all. After receiving her own harsh treatment at the hands of Abraxas Malfoy, Robena found she could hardly blame her. The siren’s miseries were Robena’s, multiplied one hundredfold, one thousandfold, being magically and physically gagged, brought via blood and magical compulsion to a filthy, cold dungeon, and then ritually raped by countless Malfoys going back generations, as well as anyone they deemed fit to participate in the ritual. 

With a sense of fatalistic bleakness, Robena wondered if she could save the siren any more than she could save the demiguise. The final line was _I am your doom and your salvation._ The statement struck fear into Robena’s heart. There was a world of difference between a demiguise and a siren, after all. The poor demiguise was an innocent animal without malice. The siren wasn’t even really a creature, even though Abraxas and other wizards would refer to her as such, if only to justify their treatment of her. No, the siren was a mythological spirit, a quasi-immortal being with magical energy entirely different and far more potent than any fantastical animal. Moreover, sirens were famous for killing people ( _men, mostly,_ Robena reminded herself) simply because they could. 

From a practical standpoint, Robena couldn’t even begin to form any sort of a plan without Malfoy blood. She sighed once more. Whatever was going to happen, it wasn’t going to happen on that dreary Saturday afternoon any more than it could have happened in the dungeon just before Christmas. Robena folded the parchment back up and stashed it in the book it had been in before, before shelving the book. She crossed back to the window and looked out. The afternoon was advancing, but with the overcast sky, the only sign was that it was a bit darker outside. Robena looked out past the meadow to the woods. The siren waited somewhere out there. Robena wondered whether or not she possessed consciousness while in her marble form. _Something to ask her, I suppose,_ she thought with mild interest. 

Just then, Robena heard a knock on her door, faster and more insistent than that typical of a house elf. “Yes?” Robena called.

“It’s Torby, miss,” came the response. “Can Torby come in?”

So it was a house elf after all. “Yes, of course.”

The door opened and Torby walked through, a spindly elf with a long, tapering nose and large green eyes. “Master Abraxas is asking that Miss Robena come straight away to Master Lucius’ room and bring Dittany if she has any.”

Torby’s pressured speech came out in a rush and he hopped from foot to foot, his eyes wide. “Essence of Dittany? Whatever for?” Even as she asked, Robena dug around in her valise. There it was, buried under a cask of Lady Lannington’s Face Potion for Flawless Skin. 

“It’s Master Lucius, Miss. He’s been mortally wounded and Master Abraxas needs Miss Robena's help right away.”

Robena’s stomach fell and she felt the blood drain from her face. She grabbed the Essence of Dittany and turned back to Torby. “Lead the way." 

Torby turned on his heel and marched back through the door to Robena’s room and then down the hall as fast as his legs would carry him. Robena followed behind, her mind imagining every possible scenario that could have led to something like this. She wasn’t going to bother asking Torby about it in any event. Robena knew that Abraxas would not have wasted time explaining the situation to a mere house elf; it was more important that he get a fast response.

Torby led her to Lucius’ bedroom and stopped at the open door. “Master, Miss March is—“

“Yes, I can see that, Torby,” Abraxas cut him off impatiently. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, where Lucius lay supine, blocking wherever the injury was, his hand extended down, holding something in place. “Miss March, come over here at once.” Abraxas shut his eyes for a moment and shook his head. “If you please.” 

Robena raised an eyebrow. She had never seen Abraxas in any other mode but icy control, but the dire situation rattled him now. This only increased Robena’s anxiety. Whatever was happening to Lucius must have been emergent indeed to unnerve such a man as Abraxas. Robena crossed quickly. “The Essence of Dittany, sir,” she said, holding the bottle out to Abraxas. 

He stood, his hand still on Lucius and now Robena could see what Abraxas had been blocking. Lucius’ face was even paler than usual and he breathed shallowly, his eyelids fluttering. Robena’s heart turned over as her gaze moved to where Abraxas had his hand. Blood spread onto the sheet beneath Lucius and more dripped between Abraxas’ fingers where he had his hand clamped on Lucius neck. “Put your hand over mine, Miss March,” Abraxas ordered.

Robena responded with alacrity, sitting on the bed where Abraxas had been sitting and placing her hand on top of Abraxas’ larger one. “I’m going to take my hand away now,” Abraxas said. “Keep a firm grip, but not too firm or he’ll lose consciousness.” As soon as Abraxas took his hand away, more blood seeped out and Robena quickly pressed down. Lucius moaned.

“It’s all right, Lucius,” Robena murmured. “It’s all right.” 

Lucius’ eyes opened and he looked at her. “Miss March,” he whispered. “You can’t get a break, can you?”

“Hush. Children should be seen and not heard,” Robena said, smiling. 

Lucius returned her smile half-heartedly before closing his eyes again. Meanwhile, Abraxas opened the Essence of Dittany. “This shall slow it, but it won’t stop it. For that, I shall need your aid. Now, when I command it, move your hand.”

Robena nodded and moved aside so that Abraxas could get in with the potion, still keeping her hand in place. “Ready…and…now.” Robena moved her hand, now sticky with Lucius’ blood, seeing the wound for the first time. It was about five centimeters long and perfectly straight, as if done with a very sharp blade. Dark red blood flowed out steadily. Abraxas immediately doused the incision with the Dittany and Lucius grimaced in pain. As Abraxas had predicted, the blood slowed to a trickle. 

Abraxas’ entire body relaxed. “Good,” he said. He drew his wand and pointed it at Lucius. “ _Vascularis Immendo_. That will take care of the damaged vessel. At this point, Miss March, I shall need you to approximate the edges of the wound with your hands so I can heal the flesh and so it does not leave a scar.” He took something off that had been clipped to his wand and replaced it with something else. 

Robena felt her eyes widen at what she was seeing but she kept her mouth shut. Abraxas was using illegal magical amplification to heal Lucius, either because he wasn’t strong at healing magic, or else he wasn’t taking any chances. Like using a wand Repeater, using an Augmenter was solidly Dark Arts and being caught with one meant prison time in Azkaban. Moreover, they were single use, and Abraxas had taken one off and put another one on, making Robena wonder just how many of them Abraxas had to spare. And he had used it right in front of Robena so either the situation was desperate enough for Abraxas not to care if she saw him do it, or else, like forcing her in her own bed, he was confident no one would believe her or care to make a fuss about it. Either way, if it helped Lucius, Robena was fully prepared to ignore it and its implications.

“Lucius,” Robena said softly. He opened his eyes and looked at her once more. “Look towards your wardrobe.” Lucius did as he was bid, turning his head to the left and tilting his chin slightly up, smoothing the area where Robena and Abraxas needed to work. Robena flattened her hands, one on either side of the wound and pressed them gently together, drawing the edges of the wound into contact.

Abraxas nodded. He pointed his wand at Lucius once more. _"Dermium immendo,"_ he said. Robena felt her hands grow warm and watched as Lucius’ skin started to glow from the inside out, the flesh knitting back together again slowly. She closed her eyes and channeled her own magical energy into her hands as well. After a few moments, Robena felt the warmth fade and so she opened her eyes to see that the incision was just finishing closing itself. 

Now it was Robena’s turn to relax. She removed her hands, now stained with Luicus’ blood, noting that they were shaking. “What happened?” she asked Lucius.

Lucius turned his head back to her, smiling. “I bravely woke the siren.” His made his eyes widen theatrically on the last word, as if telling Robena a frightening bedtime tale. 

“How dare you be flippant about this?” Abraxas demanded.

Lucius’ smile faded. “Sorry, father,” he muttered. 

Robena looked at Abraxas. She knew exactly why Lucius was being flippant about waking the siren and its aftermath; after all, he had acted in such a manner over and over again in the past. Joking about these things kept the horrors in Lucius’ life at a comfortable distance, a coping strategy Robena knew Abraxas would never understand. Abraxas continued to scowl at Lucius as he unclipped the Augmenter and put it with the other spent one in his pocket before sheathing his wand. He then turned his attention to Robena. “I’m certain you would agree that Lucius needs to rest, Miss March and I would speak with you.” His eyes flicked to Lucius. “Alone.” 

Robena held up her blood-soaked hands and stood, before moving towards the door. “I would prefer to clean up first if it’s all the same to you, sir,” she said. _There’s enough on there to control the siren,_ the pragmatic and slightly evil side of her brain reminded her before her conscience quickly dismissed the thought. While it was true, using his blood in such a capacity and without his consent was not fair to Lucius. On the other hand, it could also serve as insurance, should Robena need it. _As a last resort only,_ she decided with conviction.

Abraxas stepped in front of her before she could exit, blocking her. “Allow me, Miss March,” he said, drawing his wand again.

“Oh, it’s really no trouble, sir, I’ll just pop to the lavatory and—“

“I insist,” Abraxas said, his voice quiet and his eyes boring into hers.

 _Damn it straight to Hades,_ Robena thought, although she kept a look of resigned compliance on her face. “Very well, sir,” she said, shrugging. 

“ _Tergeo._ ” With that, the blood disappeared. 

Robena dropped her hands. “Thank you, I’m sure.” 

Abraxas nodded, putting his wand away. “After you, Miss March.” 

Robena stepped around him and opened the door to exit Lucius’ bedroom. _So much for that idea,_ she thought as Abraxas followed her out. 

THIRTY-TWO: COUNSEL

Once in the hall, Abraxas took the lead as they headed to a small drawing room, the same one that Robena knew Abraxas used most frequently for discussions with Lucius. It was one of the less threatening, more pleasant rooms in Malfoy Manor, with a red Victorian brocade sofa and two matching end tables in front of a roaring fire. To Robena’s delight, she could see the small, scurrying shapes of salamanders in the flames. 

Robena seldom came into this room and so wandered the edges, looking at the books in the tall bookshelves that lined the walls. Behind her, she could hear the sound of Abraxas pouring himself a drink from the sideboard. “Would you like something, Miss March?” 

Robena turned in surprise at this sudden outburst of cordiality from Abraxas, especially because he had spent the entirety of their last conversation sending implicit threats her way. “Thank you, no,” she said. The last time she had imbibed in earnest had been the night of the ill-fated solstice event. Besides, she didn’t trust anything he would pour out for her. Professor Headley, the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher while Robena attended Hogwarts, a nervous, twitchy, balding wizard in his early fifties had once said to her, _Just because you’re paranoid doesn’t mean they’re not after you._ He was arrested a year after Robena graduated and sent to Azkaban for illegally breeding and trafficking ashwinders, so as it happened, he was right.

Abraxas came around the sofa and sat at one end. He took a sip of his drink and sighed lightly. “Have a seat, Miss March,” he said.

Robena crossed the room and sat on the very edge of the sofa, as far away from Abraxas as she could. She placed her hands in her lap, her spine straight and her toes pressed into the Oriental rug. 

The corner of Abraxas’ mouth turned up in a smirk. “You may relax, Miss March.”

“Just this once?” Robena asked dryly, turning her body to face him, but changing nothing else about her posture. 

Abraxas took a long pull of his drink this time, wincing as he swallowed. “For now, yes. I need you to be completely candid with me and I’d prefer not to threaten you. This time. So, let us speak plainly, wizard to witch.”

He could have knocked Robena over with a phoenix feather; this was the closest Abraxas had ever come to putting the two of them on equal footing. That or he was just trying to manipulate her. Yes, that seemed far more likely. Robena looked at Abraxas carefully in the light from the lamps and the fire. The hand not on his drink shook very slightly and his eyes carried a note of anxiety that Robena had never seen there. “And what, pray tell, would you have me say?” she asked.

“Did you or did you not put Lucius up to going out to the Fell Circle and waking the siren?”

Robena felt her eyebrows lower instantly. “Of course not,” she said, appalled. “Did _you?_ ”

Abraxas glared at her in turn. “No! How dare you suggest it?” 

Robena spread her hands. “You wanted me to be candid, didn’t you?” 

Abraxas’ eyes drifted to the side.

“Ah,” Robena said, smiling coldly. “I thought not.” She stood and crossed to the sideboard, where she now helped herself to Abraxas’ fine liquor in a glass of her choosing. 

“Changed our mind, did we?” Abraxas asked, regaining his composure.

Robena paused before answering. She took a sip now, the alcohol sweet and mellow, warming but not burning in her throat. “I didn’t want to trouble you, sir." She came back over to the couch and sat down. 

Abraxas sighed and rubbed his forehead with thumb and index finger. “Very well. Let’s try once more, shall we?”

“Please.”

“Do you have any conception or clue as to why Lucius would awaken the siren?”

Robena took another drink, mulling it over. What they had overheard at the party was ancient history; if Lucius was going to awaken the siren about what they had heard, he would have done it sooner. No, this was something else entirely. “I can’t be certain,” Robena answered honestly. “Did you ask Lucius himself?”

Abraxas scoffed. “Whatever for? He’d only lie to me…” He didn’t bother to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

“And why do you suppose that is?” Robena asked, cocking an eyebrow. 

Abraxas drained his drink, stood, and poured another before coming back over to the couch. He sat back down and stared into the fire, the glow of the flames casting shadows on his face. “You think I don’t love him.”

“I never said that,” Robena said, relenting slightly. 

“But you’re not denying it either.” Abraxas looked at her now. 

“And you suddenly care about the opinion of one Mudblood?”

Abraxas looked into his drink now. “Lucius _will_ lie to me,” he said softly and, Robena noted, dodging her question. “He is…cunning.” His voice carried a faint note of pride now. “My goal for Lucius has always been to make him strong, with fortitude and resilience enough to bear the name of Malfoy and everything that comes with it. As such, he _must_ be cunning. He _must_ be ruthless. There is room for naught else.” Abraxas’ eyes found hers again. “However, that means that by necessity I also must keep him at a distance, regardless of how painful it might be for either of us.”

Robena said nothing. She sipped her drink, not wanting to break the spell of Abraxas' for once acting like a human, an act towards her that he would no doubt regret in the harsh light of day.

“I do love him, despite what you or others may think. And today…” Abraxas cut off and closed his eyes for a moment. “He reminded me so much of Laila, Miss March.” He opened his eyes again and Robena could see how haunted he still was by the memory of the day of Lucius’ birth. “All that blood…watching her fade…losing her. And today felt and looked exactly the same.” 

In that moment, Robena realized that the existential dread within Abraxas present today stemmed from his realization of just how fragile the Malfoy dynasty truly was. In fact, it was likely that the only other time that had forced Abraxas to confront this uncomfortable truth was the day Laila died. And so Abraxas was obsessed with maintaining the strength of his and his ancestors’ blood legacy by any means necessary. If anything happened to Lucius, the oldest pureblood line in the wizarding world would fail and it would be Abraxas’ fault for not protecting it. “Will you let up on him, then?” Robena asked. 

Abraxas glanced at her sharply. “Absolutely not. While Lucius may have believed himself clever and bold today, this little stunt of his was in spectacularly poor judgment and there will indeed be consequences.”

“He’s 11, sir."

Abraxas inclined his head. “Be that as it may, Miss March, as I told you the first day we spoke within Malfoy Manor, he is not like other wizard children, nor even like other pureblooded children.” 

“A conversation I remember well,” Robena muttered taking another drink. 

“Thus, one would hope that by now you have borne witness to the truth in my words.” 

“So, what would you have me do?”

Abraxas paused for a moment as he studied her. “He’ll lie to me. He’ll not lie to you.”

Now it was Robena’s turn to scoff. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that. Of a certainty, he has lied to me in the past about a variety of things.” 

“He will not lie to you about this,” Abraxas persisted. “Find out what you can and report back to me. That is my directive to you in this regard, Miss March.” 

Robena swirled the contents of her glass, watching the amber liquid rise and fall as it circulated, catching the light from the fire in its jewel-toned depths. “And when he finds out that I betrayed him to you, he shall never tell me the truth again. Surely you’ve considered that in your calculations.” 

Abraxas’ jaw tightened. “Then we are at an impasse.”

“So it would seem.” Robena sipped her drink. “However, I’m afraid the ability to break the deadlock lies with you, not with me.”

“Meaning?”

“If you want that which you claim, you musn’t punish Lucius, regardless of how much you long to.” 

Abraxas drew himself up and narrowed his eyes at Robena. “Who are you to tell me how to raise my—“

“Hear me out, Mr. Malfoy, please,” Robena cut him off by raising a hand. “I’m not saying don’t punish him ever again; I’m saying don’t punish him for _this_ offense.”

Abraxas fumed. “But he disobeyed me with premeditation and intention, Miss March. Surely you don’t expect me to stand idly by while he makes a mockery of my rules, rules, I might add, put in place for his own safety.” 

“Oh, I daresay he will not fear you any less after all of this is over, whether you punish him for it or not. He’ll simply be even more reticent to tell anyone the truth next time, should you beat him bloody for it this time.” Robena softened her voice a bit. “Consider this as well, sir: you would be a monster indeed if you believed that Lucius coming within a hair’s breadth of death today due to his own decisions was not punishment enough for his infraction.” 

Abraxas relaxed, running a thumb idly over his lower lip as he considered what she said. “Very well, Miss March,” he finally answered. “We shall try it your way. But you had better be right.”

“I thought you weren’t going to threaten me this time,” Robena pointed out. “Besides, do you have any better ideas?” The alcohol was definitely loosening her tongue, but for once, Robena knew that she had the higher ground. She could not hope to retain it, so for the time being, she cherished it.

“I’m not threatening you, Miss March. All I shall say is, may you find success.” With no small amount of sarcasm, he lifted his glass in her direction and then drained it before making a shooing motion with his hand. “Off you go.” 

Robena finished her drink as well and placed her tumbler on the side table. When she stood up, she did it too quickly and got a head rush. She blinked for a moment, attempting to clear it. By then, Abraxas had also risen and gone back to the sideboard for more. It was clear then to Robena that while she went to talk to Lucius, Abraxas was going to drown the memory of the day and of Laila.

Dusk had descended as Robena walked back down the hall to Lucius’ room, her shadow long in the oblique beams from the wall sconces. She knocked softly and when she got no response, she cracked the door slightly. A shaft of warm, golden light from the fireplace and the lamps spilled out into the hallway. Robena paused to listen and heard Lucius moan slightly, probably asleep. She opened the door, slipped in quietly, and then shut it again. 

Lucius lay in much the same position as when she had left, supine, with his head tilted slightly to the side, away from the wound. Its site now showed perfectly smooth skin, as if the incident had never happened. _What_ had _happened?_ Robena wondered. Charged with Abraxas’ task, she knew even less than he did. She watched Lucius in repose, breathing lightly. _He looks completely innocent whilst asleep,_ Robena thought as she gently pushed the strands of white blond hair off of his forehead. 

At her touch, Lucius opened his eyes. “Miss March,” he said. “You wouldn’t believe the day that I’ve had.” He yawned and sat up.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Robena said. “I was just coming in to check on you.”

Lucius raised an eyebrow. “I’m still alive, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

Robena smiled. “Yes, I can see that.” She sat on the edge of his bed, facing him. “So, you’ve had an unbelievable day. What happened?”

“I woke the siren, as I said.” 

“For what possible purpose, Lucius? Surely you knew how dangerous that might be.”

Lucius reached up and caressed the side of his neck with his fingers. “Obviously not,” he said, his voice tight. 

Robena waited.

Lucius sighed. “I thought my blood could control her. I was wrong. Or perhaps not entirely wrong, but she managed to get my blood off of her before I had any _hope_ of controlling her and so she quickly gained the upper hand of the situation.” Lucius’ voice sounded bleak. “She was going to make me cut my own throat, which was supposed to free her, had it worked.” 

“Oh, Lucius…” Robena shook her head.

Lucius smiled suddenly, bright and sharp. “No matter, Miss March. My father showed up in the nick of time and saved my life. No harm done.”

“You still haven’t answered my question. What had you hoped to gain in the process?”

Lucius looked past Robena. “My cloak is hanging on the back of my door Miss March. If you would be so kind, go and fetch what’s in the left-hand pocket.” 

Robena frowned, her curiosity fully roused. “Very well.” She stood and crossed the carpet to the door. Lucius’ cloak was still wet from his misadventure in the forest, but Robena reached into the left pocket and drew forth the object in question: an antiquated, small, green leather volume. She brought it back over to the bed, where the lamplight fell over the cover, illuminating it. “ _Fauna Esoterica,_ ” she read out loud. Suddenly, all the pieces fell into place. “It was about the demiguise, wasn’t it? You thought the siren would tell you how to catch it.” She shook her head. “I wish your father had never put the thrice-damned idea in your head. I guarantee that it’s only going to cause you misery in the end.” 

Lucius leaned towards her, intensity in his gray eyes. “But that’s just it, Robena, she _did_ tell me.”

It was a rare use of Robena’s given name, but the gesture was so intimate and organic that Robena didn’t have the heart to correct him. “What do you mean?” 

“Well, she didn’t think I would live long enough to actually use the information she gave me, so she told me the secret.” Lucius relaxed back, looking pleased.

“Merlin, you sure showed her, didn’t you?” Robena asked sardonically.

Lucius reached over his head to trace the ornate scrollwork carved into his headboard with a finger. “Only if I can apply what she told me and catch the demiguise, of course,” he answered casually, the irony flying right over his head like an un-caught Snitch.

“And what was the secret?”

Lucius dropped his hand. “Apollo Lovegood. Does that name sound familiar to you?” 

“Yes, but…” Robena’s eyes drifted to the fire. “I can’t place it. I’m sorry.”

“I suspected as much. Pity.” 

Robena looked back at Lucius with incredulity. “So, what you’re telling me now is that you almost cut your own throat for a name with no context that the siren tried to tell you was _the_ secret to catching the demiguise?” 

“No, no. Not _the_ secret. _My_ secret.” The intensity was back, the obsession burning within him and shining out of his face.

“Lucius, listen to me carefully,” Robena said. “You must drop the idea of catching the demiguise. Nothing, _nothing_ good shall come of it.”

“Did you know I saw it when we came back in?” Lucius asked, cocking his head to one side. “When we returned from the forest, that is. The little bugger--excuse me-- _creature_ was standing there, plain as a bowtruckle in a wandtree, in the middle of the hall, eating a cabbage. What do you make of that?” He smiled once more.

Robena shook her head. “You’re not listening.” 

“No, _you’re_ not listening,” Lucius argued. He sighed once more and looked around his room, his eyes taking in the drapery, the furniture, the plaster molding and the polished marble; all the various trappings of his family’s wealth. “We Malfoys can afford a lot, you know,” he said. “But the most expensive thing I have I bought today, which was that name. If I don’t catch the demiguise now, it will have been for nothing, you realize, all of it. Is that what you want?” 

It was a brazen manipulation, even for Lucius, but Robena smiled in spite of herself and spread her hands. “All I want is what’s best for you. It’s what your father wants as well.” Her smile faded. “By the by, how _did_ he know you were out there?”

Lucius smirked. “A Dark Arts Ritual.” He held up a hand. “I _know._ I was as surprised as you.” He turned serious again. “Do you remember the last time we were in the Fell Circle and my father punished me?”

Robena felt her jaw tighten. “What about it?”

“He did it so he could collect some of my blood and then he conducted a ritual with it. Because of that, any time my blood is used to awaken or control the creatures in the Fell Circle, the magic alerts him.”

Robena’s eyes widened at the curse she had effectively just dodged in letting Abraxas remove Luicus’ blood from her hands. She shuddered internally at what the consequences would have been of her using Lucius’ blood to activate the siren. She also had to admit that she was impressed at the level of Abraxas’ machinations and his own cunning. 

“So, this was even more expensive than I originally believed,” Lucius mused. “Seeing as I can never do it again while my father’s alive.” 

“Do you honestly want to?”

Lucius smiled sadly. “I suppose not. I shall miss the satyr, however. He was always great fun…” 

Robena flipped the cover of the book, doing a double take at the inscription. She tried not to let the surprise show on her face. Instead, she looked quickly at Lucius. “Might I please borrow this?” She held the book up.

“By all means, Miss March. I shan’t need it again, I suspect, or not for quite some time after today.” He yawned again.

Robena stood. “I’ll leave you to rest, then. Thank you.” 

“Think nothing of it,” Lucius murmured, sliding back down in bed and closing his eyes. “Good night.”

”Good night, Lucius,” Robena said, smiling at him once more.

She then turned and left, retracing her footsteps back to the drawing room. The door was open and Robena could see Abraxas still on the couch. She knocked anyway. Abraxas raised his head towards her. “Ah, Miss March. I trust you were successful.” His normally refined voice slurred slightly, particularly on the _S_ sounds. 

Robena crossed to the couch and sat back down. At this point, Abraxas had completely given up any pretense that he was doing anything but deliberately getting intoxicated. The cut-glass decanter now sat on the floor next to him with only about a centimeter of alcohol left in it. “Very much so, sir." Robena folded her hands in her lap over top of the book. 

“Well? What was it?”

“Lucius…” she began before shaking her head impatiently. “I’ll need to back up. You should know, since Yule, Lucius has thought of nothing but catching that demiguise. It consumes his every waking thought, to the point that he has become an unruly pupil.” Robena looked quickly at Abraxas. “Nothing that needs to be corrected,” she amended, “I fully understand that it’s a phase and he’s not an irredeemable student.” She took a deep breath. “But, suffice to say, he thinks of little else. And so he went to the Fell Circle today with the idea of waking the siren in order to gain the knowledge of how to do it.”

“What on earth gave him such an idea?”

“Well…” Robena handed the book over.

Abraxas took it from her. “ _Fauna Esoterica,_ ” he said softly, looking at the cover before opening it. Robena watched his eyes flick back and forth, reading the inscription. “Laila…I had forgotten…” his voice became hoarse and trailed off. He cleared his throat and blinked a few times. “Where did he get this?” 

“I don’t know, sir,” Robena answered. “I truly don’t. But I can guarantee that the idea to wake the siren came from that book.” 

Abraxas didn’t say anything for a moment, his eyes still taking in his late wife’s written benediction. “Very well, you may go."

“You don’t wish to know anything else?”

Abraxas shook his head. “No.” He held the book up. “This is quite edifying in and of itself.”

Robena stood. Abraxas had turned from her, his attention back on the book and the mostly empty glass in his hand. Robena quietly left. Suddenly hungry, she walked downstairs, requesting her dinner in an alcove just off of the kitchen, a small, warm stone space that the house elves typically used for their own breaks. Robena liked to go down there every once in a while, just so she could have some other beings around her besides the Malfoys. The bustle of the house elves around the kitchen, combined with the warmth and the smells, was far more pleasant sometimes than taking her dinner alone in her room. After she ate, she went back to her room, read by lamplight for a while, and then made herself ready for bed. She turned her lamp out when she felt her eyelids grow heavy. _What a day,_ she thought as she drifted off. Still, Lucius was safe, and that was what mattered. With that comforting thought, Robena fell asleep.

A crashing sound coming from the hallway roused Robena not long after. Her eyes opened wide. Someone was coming to her door and not being particularly stealthy. She watched as whoever it was tried the door, was unsuccessful on the first try…and the second try. “ _Alohamora,_ ” Robena finally heard the muttered and irritable incant. _Oh no,_ she thought, immediately realizing what was happening. _Not tonight._

Before she could even think about getting her wand, Abraxas came into her room and crossed to the bed, not wasting a movement as he shed his dressing gown. Despite being drunk—or perhaps because of it--he moved with surprising conviction as he pulled down the covers and got on top of her. She pushed on his chest, but he took her easily by the wrists, pinning them over her head. “Please don’t deny me,” he said, “Not tonight.” Then he actually kissed her, pressing his mouth to hers. “I have to have you,” he murmured. “Don’t you see that?” He kissed her again, hard, releasing her wrists so one of his hands could slip down to touch her breast and the other could push her nightdress up before attending to himself. “Please let this happen. Please don’t fight me. Not tonight. I’m asking this time.”

 _What good is asking if I still can’t say no?_ Robena wondered. It reminded her of her conversation with Georgina wherein Georgina had advised her to do exactly as Abraxas asked, for her own leverage against him. _This one may not count, however, as he probably won’t even remember it,_ Robena thought bitterly as Abraxas entered her with a groan and she winced. He was blind drunk, his face buried in her neck as every pore seemed to exude pure ethanol. “Laila,” he murmured as his hands moved roughly over Robena’s body and he slaked his lust, his loneliness, and his anguish on her. In some ways it was worse than his cold and calculated use of her body for control. “Laila…” 

With a final thrust, Abraxas finished. He then collapsed on top of Robena, his breathing ragged in her ear as he wept. _Oh, Sweet Merlin, don’t black out on top of me,_ Robena begged silently as his weight squeezed the breath from her and she pushed him once again. Abraxas thankfully rolled off of her, got up, and retrieved his robe, wrapping it haphazardly back around himself. Without another word, he stumbled out of her room, slamming the door behind him.

It took a while for Robena to fall asleep after he left. She was furious and disgusted with him, of course, but this time, she couldn’t help but at least empathize with him just a little bit. This time was wholly different than the others. _It still doesn’t make any of this right,_ Robena thought as she pulled her nightgown back down. But, in a strange way, she _was_ glad she didn’t fight him this night; it would have been pointless, both because it wouldn’t have worked and because it wouldn’t even have counted. He had filled a need, and for once it wasn’t because of their never-ending battle for Robena’s personhood, but as a mark of Abraxas’ weakness. _I shall just have to comfort myself that he_ has _one,_ Robena thought as she closed her eyes, grateful that the day was finally over.


	12. Ch. 33: Leverage; Ch. 34: Casimir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Druella hosts her own party, an annual winter celebration that, to Druella's frustration, Cygnus and Abraxas have always manipulated to serve the Coterie of Oberon. Her patience at an end, Druella sets a scheme into motion to access the Coterie once and for all by exploiting Cygnus' weakness. Her machinations take her to the dark and unsavory lanes behind Knockturn Alley, where she meets not one, but two unusual men.
> 
>  _Druella gaped at the closed door. Cygnus hadn’t even said_ please _to her. He had treated her like a house elf, as a matter of fact. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, in an effort not to throw the invitations to the floor and stomp on them._ Do it to him, _she told herself,_ execute your plan and get through that door, whatever it takes.

THIRTY-THREE: LEVERAGE 

At the close of January, Druella Black prepared to throw a small evening event, one she held every year around this time. Allegedly, it was nothing official, but she timed it and invited the people she did at the request of Cygnus, which had come to mean at the request of Abraxas Malfoy. Druella sat at her desk, finishing the last of the invitations, her movements brisk almost to the point of being grim. Even the bright sunlight coming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows of her sitting room could not assuage her irritability.

She had already had to correct three of the invitations with spells because the distraction caused by her resentment had already resulted in several errors of address or spelling. Her mouth set in a line and her fingers spattered with ink, Druella made out the invitation to Orion and Walberga Black. If she was completely honest with herself, Druella could admit that Cygnus pressured her to invite the sort of people she probably would have anyway, but she loathed being manipulated and strong-armed into doing it. Worse still was having to re-make the guest list and invitations as Cygnus received and transmitted updates from Abraxas, which resulted in last-minute additions, subtractions, and substitutions to the guest list.

Druella took out an envelope and wrote out _12 Grimmauld Place_ on it. She supposed that she had no one to blame but herself for capitulating to Cygnus and Abraxas’ influence, as she had been the one to permit it the first time, setting an unfortunate precedent in eons past. Early in her marriage to Cygnus, Druella had thought it a pleasant idea to host a fete later in winter than around Yule, when everyone else was throwing their parties. Little did she know that her timing coincided almost exactly with the annual Coterie of Oberon gathering of Imbolc, the yearly purification ceremony.

Only the first of these gatherings had truly been Druella’s. She invited the people she wanted to invite, had the small games and amusements that she desired, and all agreed that the party had been a success and that Druella was an accomplished hostess. Even Cygnus appeared to be on her side, ignoring her event’s proximity to Imbolc. Abraxas, however, did not. 

The changes started innocently enough. The second year, as Druella made out the invitations, Cygnus wandered into her sitting room and rifled through the completed ones. He came across one from her stack and, picking it up, frowned at it. Druella placed down her quill and looked at him with concern. “What is it?”

Cygnus smiled at her, but his brows remained drawn together. “Oh, it’s probably nothing, Ella. I shouldn’t want to bother you to change invitations or seating arrangements now that your plans seem fully cemented.” 

Now it was Druella’s turn to frown. “Nothing is _completely_ final,” she conceded, her tone light. “What’s on your mind, Cygnus? This is your party as well, after all.”

“That’s very kind of you to say, but everyone knows that any success related to this event can and should be attributed to you.” Cygnus bent down and kissed the top of Druella’s head. Druella remained silent, awaiting an answer to her question. Cygnus turned serious once more. “It’s just that I’m a bit surprised you gave up the space that last year held the Carrows for the—“ he looked at the invitation again, squinting as if he didn’t recognize the name, “Harris family, is it?” 

Druella sighed. She had met Gwendolyn Harris, a half-blood, at St. Mungo’s recent charity rummage sale and they had gotten on quite well. Druella had then sincerely expressed a desire to meet Gwendolyn’s family and thought her January party a perfect opportunity to do so. In contrast, Druella found the Carrows to be somewhat dim-witted and dull, even though they were a pureblood family. Moreover, she didn’t care for the way Hansel Carrow spoke almost exclusively to her chest. She had already made out the invitations and now Cygnus was questioning them. “Is it going to be a problem?” Druella asked Cygnus, more sharply than perhaps she had intended. 

“Well, not a _problem_ , dear; as I say, this is your event. However…” Cygnus trailed off, looking pained. 

“For the love of Merlin, Cygnus, just tell me.” 

“It’s only that I was speaking to Abraxas Malfoy the other day of this event and he just mentioned how much he was looking forward to seeing the Carrows at it. That’s all.”

“Then he and Laila can invite them over.” Druella sealed another envelope. 

“Yes, they can,” Cygnus agreed patiently. “However, I believe that Abraxas would consider it a favor if we would invite them to our party.”

“No. I’ll not do it.” 

“What if I told you that Abraxas already spoke with the Carrows about the party?”

Druella scoffed. “In such a case as that, I would say you were lying. There is no reality in which Abraxas is that gauche. Besides, Laila would never allow it.”

Cygnus smiled crookedly, now caught in his fib. “Please, Ella, do it for me then.” He shifted his weight from side to side, awaiting her answer.

Druella finally rolled her eyes. “Fine,” she growled, snatching the Harris’ invitation away from him and incinerating it with her wand. “I’ll just run into the Harris family in Diagon Alley or something.” 

“You’re so good to me, Ella."

“Yes, yes…” She waved her hand in dismissal and Cygnus left her alone to finish her task.

In the decade that had passed since then, Cygnus gradually became less cordial and more direct, telling her to cut this person or this family, add this person, and then change his mind several times. Two years prior, Druella had finally become so fed up with his and probably Abraxas’ wavering that she had given him a deadline of five days prior to the party to finalize who Druella could and could not invite. 

The entire thing rankled Druella, that Cygnus explicitly and Abraxas implicitly were using her and her event for staging and preparing Coterie business. She sealed the Orion Blacks’ envelope with ebony-colored wax, pressing in her own Black seal. She supposed that she could simply not host the event or cancel on some pretense or other, but that decision would undoubtedly cause more of a headache than letting Abraxas and Cygnus manipulate the guest list. 

As always, their machinations would be a lot more tolerable if Druella and other witches, particularly Coterie wives, were actually allowed in. Each subsequent year, Druella grew increasingly frustrated with being merely a pawn of the secret society in which she could never take part. Because of her growing resentment, Druella did have one idea to ensure that she could spy on the Coterie ritual through Cygnus, but it was risky, expensive, and perhaps more cold-blooded than even she was willing to be. Still, Druella kept the idea in the back of her mind, just in case Cygnus ever pushed her over the edge.

Druella saved the Malfoys’ invitation for last, antipathy smoldering within her as she wrote out the details, made out the address, and sealed it. Just as she had gathered all the invitations together to post, she heard a knock at the door.

“Enter,” Druella called imperiously.

Cygnus came in and without even a glance at her completed invitations, said, “Drop the Prewetts; add Francois Selwyn and Guest.” Without even waiting for an answer, he exited. 

Druella gaped at the closed door. Cygnus hadn’t even said _please_ to her. He had treated her like a house elf, as a matter of fact. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, in an effort not to throw the invitations to the floor and stomp on them. _Do it to him,_ she told herself, _execute your plan and get through that door, whatever it takes._ With the utmost deliberation and care, Druella extracted the Prewetts’ invitation, drew her wand, and made the change. Once again, she bundled up all of the invitations to take to the post Owlery.

 _All but one,_ she thought. She sat down and made out one more, a simple missive with the date, the time, and the address, but no salutation. Druella then opened up a lower drawer in her desk and withdrew a 1000-Galleon promissory note, which she clipped it to the invitation. Gathering all of the invitations together, Druella summoned a house elf who manifested immediately. “Fetch my ermine-trimmed winter cloak and dragon-skin handbag and bring it to me at once,” she ordered. The house elf snapped its fingers and Disapparated, returning within a minute with Druella’s things. 

Druella placed all of the invitations into the handbag, stowed her wand, and put on her cloak. She then walked to the foyer of Blackwood Hall, drew her wand, and Disapparated. She appeared seconds later in Diagon Alley. In the late afternoon, only a few people traipsed through the slush that covered the cobblestones. Druella went to the post Owlery first, handing the bundle of invitations to the crotchety post-witch. She paid an extra Galleon for guaranteed same-day delivery and exited back into Diagon Alley, her first errand complete.

Druella’s next task was far more delicate and would require the utmost discretion. Halfway down the block, she made the left turn that took her into Knockturn Alley. The denizens of the alley, dodgy and unsavory as they were, either touched their caps respectfully at Druella’s passing or refused to make eye contact. They knew a pureblood Dark Wizarding family matriarch when they saw one and responded accordingly. At this point in her life, Druella didn’t even think twice about it; their deference to her was simply the way things were.

She made a point of being seen by several people as she opened the door to Borgin and Burke’s, sweeping in as the bell above her head rang, nodding to the store’s proprietors, and having them greet her with respect in return. Once they turned back to the customer they were helping, Druella wended her way to the rear of the store, found the back exit and slipped out into the back lane that ran parallel to Knockturn Alley.

She took a piece of parchment out of her purse, one that she had nicked from Cygnus’ coat long ago, a fragment of a business card. Druella drew her wand and cast Lumos Mimina so she could see the writing in the dim twilight of the tiny alleyway. _Isadora’s Recreation Club_ it said in faded black script. On the line beneath, it said, _A meeting place for the indulgence of discerning taste_ There was no address, but what Druella had discovered was that if she cast Aparecium upon it, the directions on how to find the place would materialize for ten seconds before fading again.

Druella did this now before putting the card back into her handbag, but keeping her wand drawn. To her right and left were brick walls of adjacent buildings and ahead of her was a locked, rusty wrought-iron gate. Druella approached it. It took her two tries to say the incant, it was so embarrassing and puerile. “Aloha-whore-a,” she muttered, her cheeks now on fire. She shook her head, disgust warring with satisfaction as the gate swung open to admit her. 

_What are these people, twelve?_ she wondered to herself as she crossed through the gate and went down the iron spiral staircase to the basement. _If they are twelve, do you really want to know about it?_ Druella asked herself before deciding that she definitely did not. Regardless, she couldn’t turn back now. She wanted in to the Coterie and this place could very well hold the key to that forbidden door. _Speaking of doors,_ she thought, reaching a metal-reinforced bolted door at the bottom of the stairs. 

There was a bell-pull next to it, which Druella rang now. “Who is it?” came a voice, a male with some unidentifiable accent. 

“Mrs. Druella Black. Let me in at once; I wish to speak with the proprietor.” She knew from dealing with other Knockturn Alley residents that she could not show any weakness whatsoever.

“You are speaking with the proprietor now, you lucky doll.”

“Of all the presumptuous—“

“Unfortunately, we don’t engage with hostile little wifeys. Have a spectacular day.” 

Druella fumed. So it was going to be like that. She took a half-step back and regarded the closed, bolted door. Behind her affronted feelings lay the more pragmatic empathy that told her that their paranoia was well within their rights. In fact, they had likely withstood their share of destructive magic from the business end of the wands of several _hostile little wifeys._ Their reticence was vexing but understandable. Nonetheless, Druella was accustomed to getting her way without delay. Setting her jaw stubbornly, she pulled the bell pull again and knocked on the door. 

“Go away, Mrs. Black, or I shall be forced to contact Magical Law Enforcement and have you removed from the premises.”

Druella suppressed a grin at a bluff so obvious that she was now sure that the proprietor, whoever he or she or they might be, was probably having a go at her. “Actually, I’m not here as a hostile wife, but as an accommodating and generous wife, if you catch my meaning. Now, I was sincerely hoping to patronize _your_ establishment, but I can just as easily take my business elsewhere. It is far beneath my dignity to conduct such transactions by caterwauling through a closed door. Good day to you.” Now it was her turn to bluff and so she turned on her heel and started to march back up the iron staircase.

To Druella’s gratification, she heard a drop bar being hoisted out of the way and several bolts releasing before the door creaked open. The next sound she heard was a put-upon sigh. “Fine,” said the same voice, “Come in if you simply _must_.” 

Druella turned her head slightly over her shoulder, but kept her body facing up the stairs. “No, no, I shouldn’t like to impose,” she said, injecting the utmost disdain into her words.

“Get in here now, Mrs. Black. I’ll not ask again.”

Appalled, Druella turned around to behold the character who had the audacity to speak to her in such a manner. When she finally beheld him, she almost dropped her handbag in shock.

THIRTY-FOUR: CASIMIR

The proprietor of Isadora’s was no less than an octopus man. Druella found that this was the only way that she could make sense of what she was seeing before her. In her four decades in the wizarding world she had seen many strange and fantastical things, but nothing even came close to this being. 

His frame filled the rusty doorway and he wore nothing but tight black leather trousers and well-shined boots. His bare torso and arms were well-developed, his skin dark and his affect generally Mediterranean. In fact, he was one of the more handsome men Druella had ever seen, if it weren’t for the four tentacles that sprang from his flanks, two from each side. Each was about one and a half times longer than his arms, pale pinkish-tan and moist-looking with hundreds of undulating suckers. Even though he stood still, his tentacles never stopped moving, caressing the door or curving around his torso, in a continual, sensuous dance that Druella found disconcertingly hypnotizing.

“See something you like?” the octopus man said, dropping his voice low and leering at her.

“I—I…” Druella started, all pretense of decorum having flown.

“It’s fine if you do; there’s no shame here, but if you do not, close your mouth unless you’re planning on putting something in it.”

With that, Druella blushed to the roots of her hair. She did as he suggested, closing her mouth and drawing shoulders back, making a last-ditch effort to salvage her dignity. As she approached the door, the octopus man drew to one side, holding the door open, but ensuring that she had to sidle by him. As Druella crossed the threshold, she had to come so close to him that she could feel the heat from his body and see his tentacles moving across the surface of the door in her peripheral vision. 

Once inside, Druella found herself standing in a well-appointed room, nothing like the den of iniquity she had pictured. As a matter of fact, with its complementary Victorian furniture, stately floor clock, marble-topped side tables, crackling fire, and light sent of furniture polishing potion, it could have easily passed for a sitting room in any pureblood aristocrat’s house. They even had a house elf to take her cloak. Of course, the scantily clad, not to mention obscene, octopus man crossing around her broke that pretense completely just by his very existence. “Do you have a name?” Druella asked.

“Several, actually,” came the answer from the sideboard where he poured himself a drink. “Depending on who’s asking, of course.” He turned his superb torso towards Druella. “Would you like anything, doll? I’ve got Atlantic, Pacific, Caribbean, or if you’re anything like me, Aegean?” 

Druella did a double take at the cut glass bottles that the octopus man was pulling from the tray one at a time for inspection. All held clear liquids of some sort. “Is that sea water?”

The octopus man turned fully towards her. “Of course it is. Helps keep everything…lubricated.” He winked at her and took a sip. 

Druella paused for a moment. “I’ll pass, thank you ever so much. And you still haven’t answered my question. What shall I call you?” He looked as if he was going to give Druella a vulgar answer, so she amended quickly, “what is your name as far as I’m concerned?”

He smiled. “Casimir Mataxas.”

 _That’s quite a mouthful,_ Druella almost said before catching herself. That would have been far too easy. “Charmed, I’m sure,” she said instead.

Casimir crossed back to her and held out his hand. Some instinct gave Druella pause in taking it, but ultimately, her good breeding would not permit her to do anything other than reach her hand out as well for her new acquaintance to take. For his part, Casimir closed the distance between them almost completely, leaving scant inches between them, but Druella fought the urge to retreat from him. Maintaining eye contact with her, Casimir took her hand and brought it up to his mouth, kissing the back gently. 

Before returning her hand to her, faster than Druella could have imagined, Casimir shot out a tentacle and wrapped it around her bare wrist firmly. Druella gasped but didn’t draw away. The suckers now ranging over the sensitive skin of her inner wrist didn’t hurt, or even feel unpleasant, just strange. Druella looked up at Casimir’s face; his eyes were closed and his brows drawn down while his mouth moved slightly. After a moment, he opened his eyes released her. “Please sit,” he said, as if nothing had happened.

Druella sat in one of the armchairs and Casimir chose the fainting couch opposite her and reclined so that his tentacles could range over the side and the back in their distracting manner. “What…What did you do to me just now?”

“Did you enjoy it?” The saucy grin was back.

Druella frowned. “If by ‘enjoy’ you mean ‘was confused and a little alarmed by,’ then yes, I did.” 

Casimir took a drink of his sea water. “This is a brothel of a singular type, Mrs. Black." He gestured to the room with a tentacle. “We specialize in tailoring our products and services to the specific wishes of our clientele. More often than you might think, clients come in here, particularly for the first time, with no clear idea of what they want. My… _greeting_ saves everyone time and energy.” 

Druella swallowed. “So…your ‘greeting’ told you…about me?”

“Yes, my prim little pureblood vixen, it certainly did.” 

Druella now adjusted herself in the armchair. “I’m not entirely sure that I care for that, Mr. Mataxas.” 

Casimir spread his hands in concession. “You’re not used to anyone taking liberties with you; I understand completely. But--forgive me--that’s entirely the problem, isn’t it? It’s been a dragon’s age since anyone has taken any liberties with you whatsoever, no?” 

A flush crept into Druella’s cheeks once more. “Well…all of that’s irrelevant in this case." Her annoyance with him stemmed not only from Casimir’s presumption, but his dead-on accuracy. She cleared her throat. “Before I tell you my full business here, I must be assured of your discretion.”

Now it was Casimir’s turn to roll his eyes. “Do you really think I’d be able to keep my doors open if I were to blab everyone’s business around the Alley? I’ll keep your secrets, sweetheart, don’t worry about that.” 

Druella nodded. “Very well. As I said outside, I am here on behalf of my husband, Cygnus.”

“You want someone else to take liberties with him, is that it?”

“He likes boys,” Druella said flatly. 

“Don’t we all?” Casimir lifted his glass in her direction before taking another sip.

Druella felt her jaw clench. “If you want my business, Mr. Mataxas, you will listen and not talk.”

Casimir put his hands up in defeat and relaxed once more.

“Anyway, you said you ran a singular brothel. I need a boy—man—he needs to be over 17; I’ll not be party to anything that hurts children, but this needs to be an unparalleled male, one impossible for Cygnus to refuse. It’ll not be difficult, of course, my husband is quite--well, let’s just say his appetite is easily stimulated. Nonetheless, I need someone very special.” 

Casimir’s smile increased in brightness as Druella explained, but he said nothing. 

“So…do you have anyone in mind?” Druella finally asked.

“Oh, may I talk once more?” Casimir's eyes widened innocently.

“Yes,” Druella snapped. 

“Then yes, I most certainly do,” Casimir handed off his glass to one tentacle and used another to push a button on the table. The house elf entered. “Fetch Adrien,” he said. The house elf nodded and then disappeared. “Adrien is a brand new acquisition…actually, we are borrowing him because Yvette lost a bet.” Casimir cackled while Druella waited patiently. She didn’t care. 

A few moments later, a discrete knock sounded at an interior door next to a bookshelf. “Come in,” Casimir sang.

The door opened and for the second time since arriving at Isadora’s, Druella gaped. She didn’t even know that male Veelas existed, but there one apparently stood in front of her, seeming to light the room with his own glow as he moved gracefully across the carpet towards them. He was shorter than Casimir, and slight, with narrow hips and waist. “This is Adrien de la Croix, Mrs. Black, my new half-Veela boy. Adrien, meet Mrs. Druella Black.”

Adrien smiled and bowed from the waist, making his light brown hair fall across his forehead. He was dressed conservatively with light trousers, matching waistcoat and a white shirt, all serving to make him look innocent. Druella could have wept at his perfection, both in terms of form and in terms of her purposes. Despite Adrien’s presentation, Druella kept her face carefully neutral, knowing that Casimir was watching her. “Yes, he’s handsome,” she said grudgingly. “But at his age, is he competent?”

Casimir’s smile faded. “Are you impugning my crown jewel?”

“Not at all,” Druella said in a soothing tone, “I’m just being discerning. That is what you advertise, is it not?” 

“True, true.” Casimir gave an impatient wave of his hand. “And yes, he excels at his trade. He can, well, _we_ can demonstrate if you want.” Casimir leaned back and let his tentacles start to unbuckle his belt.

“No, no,” Druella said, holding up a hand. “That won’t be necessary.” 

Casimir smirked and let his tentacles depart to their sinuous wandering, before leaning forward once more. “Your loss, doll. Mine too, I suppose.” He sighed as Adrien watched both of them impassively. “So, what is it that you want Adrien to do and when do you want him to do it?”

Druella turned and reached into her handbag, detaching the invitation from the promissory note, before handing it to Casimir. “I’m throwing a little get-together in a few days’ time and was hoping that Adrien could attend.” 

Casimir reached out a tentacle and took the card delicately, before taking it in between his index and middle finger, studying it. After a moment, he smiled slightly and handed it off to Adrien, who took it with both hands almost with reverence. His long eyelashes and slightly prominent lower lip lent his countenance sensitivity and what seemed to be an absolute inability to keep his emotions off of his face. His hazel eyes sparkled with delight. “A party?” he said in French-accented English. 

Casimir scowled. “I didn’t give you leave to speak."

Adrien’s face fell. “Forgive me, Casimir."

“Oh, don’t be so harsh on the poor boy,” Druella said, pitying the half-Veela, “he’s just excited, after all.”

“Relax, love, it’s just a game, isn’t it, Adrien, my sweet?” Casimir smiled slyly. 

Adrien looked from Druella to Casimir and nodded quickly. Casimir reached out for Adrien now, who crossed to the sofa and, to Druella’s incredulity, sat delicately on Casimir’s lap. Casimir’s tentacles started enveloping Adrien, who shuddered, but whether in bemusement or in pleasure, Druella was unsure. The entire scene had more perversity than even Druella had expected in coming into such a place. She worried at her lip with her teeth. _Probably best to wrap this up before they start buggering right here on the couch,_ she thought. “In any event,” she said, drawing her composure about her once again, “if you are agreeable, you shall attend my party, although we’ll need to come up with some plausible cover story.”

Casimir shrugged. “You can always go with the truth, you know. People never expect it.”

Druella scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Casimir gave an annoyed sigh. “What I mean is, tell everyone that Adrien is a recent graduate of Beauxbatons, here in England to make his way in the world, and that you met him by chance in Knockturn Alley.”

That made Druella pause. Casimir was right; if what he said was true, which it probably was, the truth was always simpler to remember, and was unlikely to provoke any inconvenient questions. She finally nodded. “That may serve, or some version of it.”

“It’s almost as if I’ve done this sort of thing before.” Casimir gave Druella a dead-eyed stare.

“Indeed,” Druella agreed dryly. “However, it’s imperative that you and Adrien understand that he would be there as _my_ guest. In other words, he mustn’t…ah… _engage_ with Cygnus without my express permission. Flirt with him, yes. Tease him, by all means. Appear available, of a surety. But Adrien mustn’t give himself completely without my leave. And if he is to give Cygnus those favors specifically, it shan’t be until a future date.” She looked from Casimir to Adrien and back. “This caveat is non-negotiable, gentlemen. Do I make myself clear?”

“Perfectly,” Casimir said. He turned to Adrien. “Did you understand what the nice lady said, Adrien?” 

“Yes, Casimir,” Adrien whispered, putting his forehead on Casimir’s and running a hand up his bare chest. 

Druella cleared her throat, loudly this time. Both of the gentlemen looked at her once more. “Also, Adrien, I’ll need you to act as if you haven’t done this one thousand times,” she said. 

Adrien looked at the floor. “But I--I’ve never done anything like this before,” he said, pushing his hair behind his ear with one hand. He looked at Casimir from under his lashes. “I’ve always thought about it, but never _dreamed_ that it could actually happen…” He gave Casimir a shy smile.

“You’re trembling,” Casimir stage whispered.

“I…I’m nervous…sir…”

Druella groaned. “I thought you said he was competent,” she said to Casimir reproachfully.

“Hush, you’re spoiling it.” Casimir glared at Druella before turning his attention back to Adrien. “There’s nothing to be nervous about." He ran his hands up Adrien’s arms. “We’ll, just…take it slow.” He returned Adrien’s shy smile with a confident one of his own. They both turned to Druella now, looks of expectancy on both of their faces. 

“Wait. All of that was an act?” Druella asked, more impressed than she really wanted to let on.

“But of course,” Casimir responded. “He had you fooled though, didn’t he?”

Druella raised both eyebrows, unable to keep the smile from her own face. “Oh, very well,” she finally conceded, “If you’re going to make me say it: he’s excellent.” 

Casimir beamed and Adrien flushed with pleasure. “You may go, Adrien,” Casimir dismissed him and Adrien fairly bounced from his lap and out of the room. Casimir watched him go fondly before turning back to Druella.

“He must be turning this place into a Galleon-printing factory,” Druella said.

“Yes, he’s quite the asset,” Casimir said. “Speaking of which…”

“Ah yes,” Druella once again turned to her handbag, this time fishing out the 1000-Galleon note and a self-inking secure quill. “Will 1000 Galleons cover it?”

Casimir examined his fingernails with great nonchalance, but not before Druella caught the gleam in his eye. “His attendance at your party, yes. Anything that he does to your darling husband or lets your darling husband do to him…no.” 

Druella paused, pretending to consider, but really, money was no object in this case. Besides, haggling with the proprietor of this whorehouse of freaks was also beneath her. “Very well,” she said. “1000 Galleons to attend the party. Another 1000 Galleons whether Cygnus avails himself of Adrien or not. I’ll not have Adrien swaying the outcome either way.”

Now it was Casimir’s turn to consider. “1,000 Galleons for the party and 1,500 Galleons after,” he countered. 

“Agreed.” Druella leaned over and put the note on the side table, her quill poised above it. “To whom shall I make this out?” 

“Mataxas Offshore Trading." 

Druella looked at him curiously.

“We normally only deal in cash, Mrs. Black, but I think in your case, we might make an exception. Still, it wouldn’t do for either of us to have this traced to this place. Am I correct?”

Druella smiled slightly as she made out the note and signed it. “So it would seem.” She stowed the quill and she and Casimir stood. She handed the note to him. “We have an accord?”

Casimir smiled once more before taking the note from her. “So it would seem,” he echoed. “I’ll show you out, madam.” Casimir reached out a tentacle to push the button, summoning the house elf for Druella’s cloak. Casimir walked her to the door, but before opening it for her, offered his hand once more. “Until next time?” After a moment’s hesitation, Druella gave him her hand. Casimir gave her the same treatment, kiss on the dorsal surface, gentle wrapping with a tentacle, secret smile. He opened the door for her and Druella stepped around him into the dusk of Knockturn Alley. “Oh, and Mrs. Black?”

Druella turned. “Yes?”

“If you ever wish for someone to…take liberties with you, well…now you know where I am.” 

Druella was glad that darkness had fallen so Casimir couldn’t see the flush in her cheeks. “A kind offer, Mr. Mataxas, but I think the arrangement as it stands is perfectly adequate.”

“Well, yes, you say that _now…_ ” 

“Good evening, Mr. Mataxas.”

“Good evening yourself, Mrs. Black.” 

Druella turned from him and marched up the spiral staircase. When she reached the street level, it dawned on her that after money had changed hands, she ceased to be _doll_ or _love_ , but Mrs. Black. It shouldn’t have surprised her, and yet it did. Still, Druella couldn’t help but smile in the gathering dusk. She had set the plan in motion and was absolutely confident that it would work. _I’ve got you where I want you, Cygnus,_ she thought as she Disapparated back to Blackwood Hall. _I’ll not be denied your precious Coterie again._


	13. Ch. 35: Entrapment; Ch. 36: Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At her party, Druella offers Adrien up to Cygnus as bait, bait which Cygnus blissfully and ignorantly swallows, allowing Druella to spring her trap on him. Abraxas notices and confronts Druella with what he perceives about the situation. Druella has to think quickly to mitigate this, resulting in a long-overdue but surprisingly heartfelt talk between her and Abraxas. Abraxas opens up about his problems with Lucius while Druella offers him empathy and counsel. 
> 
> _“So you like her, then?”_
> 
> _Abraxas shifted uncomfortably. “Don’t be ridiculous. Miss March is a servant, nothing more, and a Mudblood besides.” He stroked his mouth thoughtfully with his fingers. “Still, Lucius obviously adores her, and there are times that I must confess, I wish she wasn’t a Mudblood.”_
> 
> __And I’m sure she wishes you weren’t a controlling, sadistic, ice-cold bastard, but here we are, _Druella thought to herself._

THIRTY-FIVE: ENTRAPMENT

In the following days, Druella found the idea of the party far more palatable than she had prior to her clandestine meeting. Nothing, not the bickering of the girls, not the plaintive anxieties of Cygnus, not the idea of being Abraxas Malfoy’s fool, nothing could rattle Druella. The children would attend the party, at least in the beginning, but as it was an intimate gathering, the juvenile guests would only include Druella and Cygnus’ own girls (less Bellatrix at Hogwarts), Sirius and Regulus Black, and Lucius Malfoy. 

Druella sighed as she made last minute adjustments to the long table in the dining room. She took a step back and closed one eye, tilting her head to the side to ensure that every place setting, every piece of cutlery, and every candlestick was perfectly straight and in line with the next. Assured that, as always, her house elves had done Blackwood Hall proud, Druella nodded and opened both eyes. She took out her seating chart once more to double check. Her own handwriting seemed crabbed; _my word, have I always had such mediocre penmanship?_ she wondered. She held the parchment at arm’s length. There, that was better.

“Are your arms getting too short, Ella?”

Druella turned at the sound of Cygnus’ voice, brusque, but full of good humor, as usual. She smiled at him. “Is your forehead getting too large, Cygnus?”

Cygnus’ smile faded and he self-consciously patted his hair, which had only receded slightly in the time they had been married, if Druella was honest. “That was low,” he muttered.

“Oh, it’s all in good fun.” Druella touched him on the arm to let him know that she truly meant no malice. “You’re still the handsomest man in the room.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. He really was too vain by half. 

Cygnus grunted. “Yes, until Abraxas Malfoy comes in, right?”

“Oh, _him,_ ” Druella said with exasperation. “You know he’s really not my type, _although…_ ” She dropped her voice conspiratorially, remembering a tidbit of gossip from the Malfoys’ party that she had neglected to pass on to Cygnus. “Do you know whose type he is?”

“My sister's perhaps?”

Druella felt her face fall. “How did you know that?”

Cygnus looked away for a moment, as if he had done something wrong, before recovering quickly and smirking. “It’s fairly obvious, I should think. She can’t keep her hands off of him whenever they occupy the same room.”

Druella grinned once more. “Or this?” She pressed her chest to Cygnus’ arm and looked up at him hungrily. 

Cygnus chortled. “Yes, _that_. Rather the worst kept secret of pureblood society, wouldn’t you say?”

Druella drew back. “I do wonder what Orion thinks of it?” Jade’s husband was absent in almost every sense of the word: absent much of the time from Grimmauld Place with his career, absent-minded with distraction when in Jade's or anyone else’s company, and absent to the boys as well. Orion Black worked as a Mediwizard pathologist, performing autopsies and reporting both to the Healer community and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. His work absorbed him completely and as such, he was foremost in his field, published many times over worldwide, but it had also turned him into a self-obsessed hermit. Nothing else existed, least of all his lustful, bitter, lonely wife.

“Well,” Druella said, “At least Abraxas takes it with dignity and aplomb. He’s remarkably aloof with her, as a matter of fact. And no one in the realm of Merlin can possibly tell me that Abraxas hasn’t noticed it.”

“Please,” Cygnus scoffed, “As if he isn’t received that kind of attention his entire adult life. I should hope by now he could handle any neglected matron or Galleon-digging tart that gives him mooncalf eyes.”

“That or _she’s_ not _his_ type.” Druella thought back to her last conversation with Jade about a certain Mudblood governess, and the conversation directly following it with that same governess.

“What do you mean?” 

Druella waved a hand negligently. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter. The point is, it should make for interesting theater tonight.”

“Indeed. One of many things to look forward to.” Cygnus took Druella’s hand and kissed it with a courtly flourish. For a moment, it took Druella back to her meeting with Casimir Mataxas and her breath caught in her throat. Luckily, Cygnus didn’t notice. He was already striding out the door, whistling. 

Druella took care getting ready for the party. She had decided to vamp it up a bit this time in a one-shoulder red taffeta sheath dress with a slit cut up the side and opera-length black velvet gloves. Diamonds sparkled from her ears and throat. Druella’s house elf Mimsy arranged her hair in a chic French twist, and her usual jet pins had been replaced with a matching set of diamond clips that Cygnus had given her this past Yule. 

The girls did not get new gowns for this evening and Druella gave them a looser set of parameters for dressing themselves, as the gathering was smaller and in their own home. _As long as they don’t show up naked, I don’t care,_ she thought wearily as she let Mimsy fasten a diamond bracelet to her wrist. Druella had enough to plan, prepare, and execute for this party to fuss overmuch about what clothes her girls put on their backs. And with her arrangement with Adrian and Casimir, the stakes were higher than usual.

At six o’clock, the earlier guests started to arrive. The first was society columnist for the _Daily Prophet_ Lena Marx-Ulysses, statuesque, with a streak of white in her raven-black hair. Accompanying her was her latest lover: a young, short, and rather bewildered-looking man with the barest wisp of a pubescent mustache, whose name Druella learned and promptly forgot. She realized it didn’t actually matter: Lena would have a new beau at the next event anyway so Druella really couldn’t be bothered to keep up; honestly, nobody could. 

Jade, Orion, and the boys were next. Orion smiled at Druella vaguely as Jade admonished the boys over something, before turning back to Druella and giving her a kiss of greeting. She was wearing a white, bateau-neck floor-length dress, ruched on one side, with a chiffon drape in the back. Druella told her with sincerity that she looked breathtaking ( _almost virginal,_ Druella added in her head, _and quite the bold choice with Regulus with her to spill Merlin-knew-what on it; thank everything holy for magical cleansing spells_ ). Yes, Jade Black was a vision from her chic updo to the cunning diamond links gracing her right ankle.

A few more people drifted in. Francois Selwyn showed up with his plus one: the heiress to the Greengrass fortune, Melinda, a witch as vapid and safe as any Francois could have chosen. Her wheat blond hair was caught up in a ridiculous ( _—what did the Muggles call it?—ah yes, a_ beehive) hairstyle, and she wore a light green chiffon fit- and-flare frock that did little for her except wash out her already fair complexion. Still, she simpered and flattered and Druella knew that the pairing would please the assembled company, in addition to relieving Francois’ parents, if one could believe the rumors. 

The Malfoys were fashionably late, but not discourteously so. Both wore black dress robes, and Lucius had thankfully undergone a haircut, looking quite handsome in his own right and remarkably self-assured for one so young. He shook Cygnus’ hand and bowed to Druella before detaching himself to find the guests of his own age. Abraxas, conversely, looked haggard, or as haggard as he would ever let himself be. Although his attire was beyond reproach and he carried himself with confidence, some aspect of his life had etched deep lines between his piercing blue eyes. As expected, Abraxas’ demeanor gave little away, aside from the slightest delay in answering questions. He also made a Snitch-line to the bar and immediately started drinking. 

Over the next 20 minutes or so, all the guests had arrived with one notable exception: Adrien. Druella chewed her lip nervously, glancing in turn at the clock and the door. Finally, at 6:30, Druella heard the front door open once more as Mimsy let someone in. A few moments later, in walked Adrien. His black velvet dress robes ate the light, trimmed with dove gray to match his trousers. As he took off his cloak and handed it to Mimsy, Druella couldn’t help but notice just how well Adrien’s attire fit him, particularly from the back. She approached Adrien, who reached out both hands to her, smiling warmly. Druella took his hands in hers and they kissed each other on both cheeks. “A thousand apologies for my lateness, Madame Black,” he said in his accented English. “You have a lovely home.” 

“You’re too kind." Druella took her own hands back, noticing that one of them now had a piece of folded parchment in it, something Adrien must have handed off to her. “Let me introduce you to my family.”

“That will make me very happy.” 

Amidst no small amount of curious mutterings, sly side-eyeing, and frank gawking, Druella took Adrien over to where Cygnus poured himself a drink, alone for a moment and with his back temporarily to the room. _Perfect,_ Druella thought. “Cygnus,” she called. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.” 

Cygnus looked up from the sideboard, turned, and did a double take, his eyes widening and his mouth dropping slightly. Druella felt a frisson of excitement in her abdomen. It was beginning. “Cygnus, may I present Adrien de la Croix. Adrien, this is my husband, Cygnus Black.” Adrien put his hand out for Cygnus to shake. “Adrien is a recent Beauxbatons graduate who I had the pleasure of meeting at the charity auction for the Society of Wizarding Benevolence.” To her satisfaction, Druella’s explanation fell on deaf ears. In that moment, she could have told the absolute truth, or even an augmented version of it in which she had let both Adrien and Casimir take her at the same time on the couch at Isadora’s for all the attention Cygnus was paying her. 

He had taken Adrien’s hand, shaken it, and was now holding on for a beat longer than propriety would normally expect. “Pleasure, _monsieur_ ,” Adrien murmured, letting the corner of his mouth turn up, but keeping his eyes downcast. Cygnus’ own eyes were locked on Adrien’s perfect face. Suppressing a smile of triumph, Druella backed away.

When she turned to the room, she let the smile shine through although it faltered a moment later when she caught Abraxas’ eye. He was giving her a look that clearly said, _What in the name of Hades are you doing?_ If anything, Druella let her smile widen even more, lighting her entire face. _Nothing that need concern you, Mr. Malfoy,_ she thought. Abraxas finally raised an eyebrow and turned back to Lena Marx-Ulysses’ companion, who was telling what looked like an involved anecdote, his ridiculously-mustached mouth moving like some sort of marionette’s. 

As soon as Abraxas’ attention was diverted away from her, Druella moved to the side of the room and surreptitiously read the note. It was from Casimir. _As to the tardiness, I thought the lad should make an entrance. I hope you can find it in your icy heart to forgive me. –C_ Druella smirked at Casimir’s astuteness. It truly wasn’t his first time.

Dinner fell at seven o'clock precisely. Cygnus took the head of the table and Druella the foot, per tradition. Druella had planned the seating with great deliberation, not only because etiquette dictated it, but because she wanted Adrien down near her and out of Cygnus’ reach in order to tantalize him. Thus, she placed Adrien to her right, between herself and Lucius Malfoy, who spoke to Adrien in passable French, much to Adrien’s delight. 

In itself, this was interesting, for it meant that some type of governess still had control of Lucius' education over at Malfoy Manor. Druella couldn’t help but wonder if it was that March girl still. Word traveled quickly in their insular little circle; thus, if Miss March had left for whatever reason, Druella was fairly confident she would have found out by now. Nonetheless, she made a mental note to casually slip it into conversation later should she talk to Lucius. 

When he wasn’t engaged in French conversation with Malfoy the Younger, Druella made a point to flirt with Adrien, laughing at his jokes, toasting him, and pulling Jade’s trick of touching his arm frequently. Whenever Druella looked to the head of the table out of the side of her eye, Cygnus’ expression of aggravation and longing made her laugh all the harder. Not that it was difficult to flirt with Adrien. Druella wasn’t sure if his charm was an act, if it was part of his Veela genetics, or if it was sincere, but she found that she didn’t care and that she was genuinely enjoying his company. 

After dessert and coffee or aperitifs, Cygnus sought out Adrien once again and didn’t seem to want to relinquish him. At several points, Druella reminded him pointedly to mingle with some of the other guests, and Cygnus would do so, but only with reluctance before returning to Adrien as soon as he could. Druella watched them intently and even as she did, so did Abraxas. She would have to be careful of the crafty old snake when she finally sprung the trap on Cygnus. 

At around half past eight, guests were now becoming increasingly tipsy. When Druella looked at Cygnus, he was touching Adrien more, on the shoulder or the knee, his eyes showing unalloyed lust over the rim of his cut-glass tumbler as he sipped his Firewhiskey on the rocks. _Any time now, he’s going to make his move,_ Druella thought. Sure enough, the next time she looked, Cygnus was whispering urgently in Adrien’s ear, one hand clamped on the younger man’s thigh. Druella rolled her eyes. In his ardor, Cygnus would blow his own cover if he wasn’t careful.

For his part, Adrien played the bashful ingénue to the hilt, tucking his hair behind his ear and letting his lower lip tremble, just as he had play-acted with Casimir. Ultimately, he nodded his assent and got up. Cygnus stood also and they both moved to the back of the room and out of the door that led to a seldom-used guest bedroom. Druella excused herself from her own conversation and cut through the kitchen, dodging hustling house elves, her intention to head Cygnus off.

She just made it to the remote hallway two turns down from the kitchen’s back door, where she waited, spider-like, at the junction where the two halls made a _T_. Catching her breath, Druella watched Adrien back slowly down the hall, a shy smile on his face. _Now,_ Druella thought as she stepped boldly into the hallway, cutting Cygnus off from Adrien. 

Caught by surprise, Cygnus almost knocked her over. His face ran the gamut from surprised to indignant, before finally setting on guilty. “Ella, I—“ he stammered.

Druella lifted a black velvet-gloved hand and Cygnus fell as silent as if she had cursed him. “Save it. Here’s what you need to know.” She dropped her voice now, making her tone sultry. “Adrien is such a handsome lad, isn’t he? I know you’ve been watching him all night. Watching him…” She ran her other hand up the front of Cygnus’ trousers, already tented out in his eagerness. “…And _wanting_ him.” 

Cygnus swallowed. “Ella, please…” His eyes flicked to Adrien and then back to her. Sweat beaded on his ruddy forehead. 

Keeping her hand where it was, Druella now started moving it firmly up and down. She leaned in and tilted her head up to whisper in Cygnus’ ear. “And now, here’s the good news: Adrien will do anything your…” She looked down and then back up. “… _heart_ desires.”

“And…the bad news,” Cygnus' breathing sped. Druella noted that he didn’t even try to deny what she was saying. He was way too infatuated with Adrien and consumed with desire to care what Druella thought of any of it. “What’s the bad news, Ella?”

“Unfortunately he’s only going to share that young, lithe, tight body with you on my orders,” she purred. 

Cygnus looked at her sharply, betrayal written in his mutton-chopped features. “What do you want, Ella?” he asked tonelessly.

Druella smiled once more, continuing to move her hand. She dropped voice very low this time, to eliminate the possibility of anyone overhearing. “If you want to have your way with that beautiful lad over there, you _will_ get me into the Coterie’s Imbolc ritual in two days’ time.”

“Damn it to Hades, Ella,” Cygnus said through clenched teeth. “You know I can’t do that. You _know_ I can’t.”

Druella sighed, completely ummoved. “That is a pity indeed. Adrien was so looking forward to having your hands…your mouth…your body on him and pleasuring you in any way you might desire…” Cygnus looked at Adrien over Druella’s head. Adrien, too, was looking back at Cygnus, gazing longingly at him as well, his lower lip caught between his teeth. “Don’t you _want_ him?” Druella asked.

“Yes…” Cygnus whispered, closing his eyes momentarily. 

“Then you’ll get me into that Coterie meeting.” 

Cygnus grabbed her wrists and finally stopped her. “Fine,” he growled. “Although I have no idea _how_ I’m going to do it…”

“Oh, I’m certain you’ll figure out something,” Druella responded sweetly. “After all, I should mention that Adrian’s not going to share himself with you until you give me what I ask for, so you had better bring your most creative and innovative self to the table.”

Cygnus groaned. “Surely you jest, madame.”

“Not in the least. I’ll not be gainsaid, not this time. Now, promise me you’ll get me in.”

“I promise,” Cygnus said, his voice tight. “But how do _I_ know you’ll keep _your_ word?”

Druella took her hands back and turned her attention to Adrien. “Would you like to give him a taste?”

Adrien nodded slowly, his eyes never leaving Cygnus. He swayed his shoulders coquettishly and then raised a finger and beckoned Cygnus.

“Like so.” Druella stepped out of the way. 

Cygnus said nothing else, just moved around her and down the hall after Adrien’s now-retreating form, not even sparing Druella another glance. 

“A taste only,” Druella warned Adrien, who waved at her from over his shoulder in acknowledgment.

After they disappeared down the hall, Druella turned around, her heart hammering. She had done it. She walked back towards the party, stopping in her small drawing room to pull her dress straight and check her hair. One lamp was lit on a table near the door, illuminating the mirror next to it, but leaving the rest of the room in darkness. Still, it was enough to see her own triumphant smile lighting her face. 

“So, who is he really?” said a voice out of the darkness on the far side of the room, making Druella jump. The voice was arrogant, refined, ice cold, and perfectly familiar. Abraxas had caught her.

THIRTY-SIX: TRUTH

“Abraxas,” Druella said, “I’m sure I don’t know what you’re on about. Surely you’re not referring to Adrien?” She kept her tone light and mildly confused.

Abraxas, who had been standing at one of the windows, now came into the light. He had loosened his white tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt, showing the hollow of his throat and the points of his collarbones beneath. He smiled down at her coldly. “Adrien de la Croix.” He said the full name as if tasting a fine liqueur for the first time. “He’s quite the specimen, Druella. Where did you say you found him?”

Druella looked at Abraxas evenly. She wasn’t about to let him intimidate her; they went back way too far and she had seem him at his best and at his worst, and knew him for who he truly was, as well as what had pushed him to it. “At the charity auction for the Society of Wizarding Benevolence.” It wasn’t a lie; it was precisely where she had _said_ she had found Adrien.

“I see. If I may, what was his role at that hallowed event?”

“He was, ah, collecting markers for the silent auction.” Now that Abraxas pressed her for details in her fabrication, Druella found herself on shakier ground. 

Abraxas raised an eyebrow. “As part of the auction committee proper?”

“Yes, that’s right.” 

“And what was a boy with so obviously mixed blood doing among the upper echelons of those members of pureblood society who comprise the auction committee? For that matter, what is he doing here now?”

“Not that it’s any business of yours, but he’s attending _my_ event at _my_ house as _my_ guest,” Druella said with heat generated from ten years of Abraxas’ influencing her invitees to said event. She felt her fists clench in their velvet gloves. _No, he wasn’t on your list, but it’s my Hades-blasted party,_ Druella thought but refrained from saying out loud. 

“Yes, but what is he _doing_ here?” 

“What does anyone do at a party? I can tell you what he’s _not_ doing, which is interrogating the hostess like some Merlin-forsaken _Auror_ …”

As Druella became more flustered, she noticed with some annoyance that Abraxas in turn became calmer. “You seem upset, Druella. Have I said something to offend you?” 

“Well—it’s just—what do you care?” She crossed her arms in front of her.

Abraxas didn’t answer right away, just sat casually on the arm of the chair closest to Druella. He swirled his drink before taking a sip. “I _care_ because, as it happens, I know the truth of exactly what you’re doing.”

“You do? I mean…” Druella shook her head even as her stomach plummeted. Nonetheless, she opted to shut up and let Abraxas start talking. His stating that he knew the truth of what Druella was up to could mean that he only had a theory, and Druella needed to know what it was before she incriminated herself. 

“Do you mind if I close the door?” Abraxas sounded almost tame as he drew his wand.

“I don’t care what you do,” Druella huffed.

Abraxas waved his wand and the door behind Druella shut with a soft click. “I’ve known for a while."

“Known what?” Druella kept the note of suspicion in her voice.

Abraxas stowed his wand and took another drink, his eyes never leaving Druella’s. “Now that it’s just the two of us, let’s not mince words. Cygnus prefers boys. I’ve known since our Hogwarts days, of course, and I know that you too have figured it out: how could you not? What I’m not sure of is when.”

Druella let her face fall and her shoulders slump in defeat. “Oh, _Merlin…_ ” She shook her her head.

Abraxas softened his expression and his tone. “You are singularly generous, Druella,” he said quietly, staring into his drink. “Adrien must not have come cheap…” 

Druella leaned against the sofa behind her and put her face in her hands, pretending to hide in shame, but really concealing a smile. If that was the fullest extent of the truth that Abraxas had guessed, then this next part would be as easy as cursing fish in a barrel. She let her shoulders tremble. “I’m so ashamed…” she whispered. She bit her lip hard enough to actually bring tears to her eyes and when they came, she dropped her hands and looked at Abraxas mournfully. 

Abraxas came over to her and put an arm around her shoulders. “I love him like a brother, you know, and I know you love him too. You needn’t be ashamed, not with me. We both know the truth about Cygnus and love him all the same. Am I not correct?”

Druella smiled through her tears. “Yes. But it’s so difficult, so damned difficult, Abraxas." She struck her thighs lightly with her gloved fists. “To love and desire someone who can never return that love in the same way …” To Druella’s surprise, she found that her tears came easily. Her lie had finally circled back on a truth so profound, a wound so deep, and a hurt so old that it gripped Druella’s heart with a cruel fist and squeezed the tears from her eyes. And now to be able to confess it to the one and only person who would understand seemed to open a floodgate.

She rested her head on Abraxas’ chest and wept in earnest now. To his credit, Abraxas stayed near her, stroking her shoulder gently. If nothing else, Druella knew that of all the people at the party, perhaps Abraxas with his loss of Laila could relate the most to what Druella had gone through and was continuing to go through with Cygnus. And through the tenure of her marriage, through raising the three girls, and through moving amongst pureblood society, all these aspects had forced her to live a lie, just as Cygnus had. By necessity she had remained strong for all three of those things. Eventually, Druella found a handkerchief and dried her eyes. “Please forgive me, Abraxas. What a mess I am.” 

“You’re not a mess, Druella, as I say, you’re the most generous witch I know, to find Adrien for him and allow Cygnus to go and do…that which he desires above all things.”

“I just want to make him happy,” Druella said, letting her voice break once more. In that moment, Druella had a shocking realization: in the preceding years, Abraxas had done the same thing for Cygnus as Druella had done with Adrien, bringing Cygnus Quidditch players and other young, virile, willing men. But unlike Druella, it was starting to look as if Abraxas had truly done it to make Cygnus happy. Abraxas holding the higher moral ground in this area was a disconcerting thought. Druella shook her head, letting her strength seemingly take back over. Inasmuch as a tender moment with Abraxas Malfoy was the last thing she had expected and was strangely grateful for, she still needed to leave the room having him believe that she had hired Adrien for the same reason that Abraxas would have and nothing more. 

Abraxas stood and smiled. “Well, I daresay your selection will do that admirably. Isadora’s?”

Druella felt an eyebrow drift up. “And how would an upstanding pillar of pureblood society such as yourself know about a pleasure house for those of…ah… _unique_ tastes?”

“And how would a respectable, faithful pureblood matron such as yourself know what Isadora’s even is?” Abraxas countered, dropping his voice with judgment but keeping the spark in his own eye.

Druella tried to look scandalized, but gave up after a second. “All right, Abraxas, we could do this all night. Shall we just call this a draw?”

“Whatever you wish, Mrs. Black,” Abraxas said, quirking the corner of his mouth. “This is, as you have said, _your_ party. However…” He shifted and removed an object from his pocket and held it up between his second and third fingers. It was a folded piece of parchment. “If you’re going to engage in such back-alley transactions, I would urge you to exercise a bit more caution in the future.” He held it out.

Druella took it and unfolded it. It was the note from Casimir. Druella swore. 

“Just be glad that it was I who found it and not someone without principle,” Abraxas said judiciously.

Druella nodded. “Thank you,” she replied with authentic relief, before drawing her wand for a quick Incendio. Once she reduced the note to a pile of faintly smoking cinders, Druella put her wand away. “Besides, enough about me, Cygnus, our sordid marital difficulties…” Druella waved her hand and settled on the sofa before gesturing to the armchair opposite her for Abraxas to join her for a moment. “How are you?”

Abraxas sat down. “Couldn’t be better." His eyes had once again turned cold. 

“Well, you look like you’ve been dragged under the wheels of the Knight Bus for a few blocks, if I’m being honest…” Druella’s relief from successfully diverting Abraxas from the full truth about Adrien and Cygnus coupled with the catharsis of a much-needed and long-overdue cry made her blunter than usual. And she hadn’t truthfully spoken one-on-one with Abraxas in quite a long time. Whenever they saw each other, Abraxas gave her a cursory greeting and immediately whisked Cygnus away for Coterie business. In fact, Druella couldn’t remember the last time that just the two of them had simply talked. Perhaps a decade or more…and they used to be friends.

“I like honesty,” Abraxas said.

Druella snorted. “No you don’t.”

“You’re correct. I was lying just now.” He half smiled and lifted his glass in Druella’s direction. 

“Which time? When you said you couldn’t be better or that you liked honesty?”

“Both.”

Druella sat forward. “Unlike you, I genuinely do like the truth. What is going on with you?”

Abraxas took a drink. “Lucius had a brush with death a week ago.”

Druella felt an empathetic pang in her heart. “What? What do you mean?”

“He was severely injured, by accident of course. The particulars don’t matter, but…” Abraxas looked away from her now. “Every time I think about it, it brings Laila to mind. Coincidentally, just prior to his injury, Lucius found a book of hers in the library, one with an inscription to me from the first Christmas we were married. I thought I had gotten rid of everything after she died, but apparently not.” He shook his head now, every line in his face chiseled with pain. “Druella, it was too much: the book, the wound, the reminder of just how alone I am. Bearing the responsibility for the Malfoy line was never supposed to be on any one person’s shoulders, you know, not even mine.” 

His voice had dropped almost to a whisper at this last. While none of what he was expressing was a surprise to Druella, what was a surprise was that Abraxas was admitting vulnerability and choosing to trust Druella with this. It was almost enough to make her feel bad for lying to him and manipulating her way into his secret society. Almost. “Why did you never remarry after Laila?” she asked as gently as she could.

Abraxas smiled, but it was rueful. “You know there never was anyone else. She was the perfect match for me…the perfect fit. Laila could temper me and balance me; her presence brought equilibrium and stability to our family and to Malfoy Manor, things that have never been the same since her death. She understood me in a way no one else ever has and she would have been such a mother for Lucius…” Abraxas drifted off now, overcome with the agony of his past and the catastrophic loss that he never had, nor ever would, recover from. 

“Yes, well, she’s gone,” Druella said. It was harsh, but it needed to be said. She changed her tack. “How is the new governess getting on, Robena something...?”

Abraxas’ mouth twisted. “Ah... _that_ —Miss March--is a whole other problem.” 

Druella frowned. “Is she not working out?” She gasped in realization. “Was it _her_ fault Lucius almost died?”

Abraxas shook his head. “No. She was off duty at the time and Lucius was out on his own. Actually, Miss March proved quite beneficial in helping me that day.” 

“So you like her, then?”

Abraxas shifted uncomfortably. “Don’t be ridiculous. She’s a servant, nothing more, and a Mudblood besides.” He stroked his mouth thoughtfully with his fingers. “Still, Lucius obviously adores her, and there are times that I must confess, I wish she wasn’t a Mudblood.” 

_And I’m sure she wishes you weren’t a controlling, sadistic, ice-cold bastard, but here we are,_ Druella thought to herself. Out loud she said, “You’re not becoming too…familiar with her, are you?” She thought back to her conversation with Jade back at Abraxas’ party and the chilling likely aftermath, now tacitly confirmed by Abraxas himself. 

Abraxas looked away again. That was an unequivocal _yes_ as far as Druella was concerned. “Oh no…” she whispered in sudden realization. “You let her see this side of you, didn’t you?” It wasn’t just about sex, although Druella had no doubt with how Abraxas was acting that it was a factor. No, this was something else entirely, and frankly, something far more dangerous: Abraxas must have let his guard down around Robena March and was now doubting everything else. 

Druella drew her shoulders back, sitting erect and setting her mouth in a line. “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll dismiss her at once, Abraxas. Her proximity to you coupled with her blood status could seriously harm your reputation.” Also, not that this was foremost in Druella’s mind as a priorty, getting Robena out of the Malfoy house would spare the March girl from any further abuses on Abraxas’ part.

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple, Druella. At this point, I admittedly need her.”

“Then you have no business letting this get out of your control.”

“No.” Abraxas dropped his hand. “I can control her. I’ve simply lost my way temporarily, what with this crisis with Lucius and that which it dredged up regarding Laila.” He stood. “What I need to do is strengthen my resolve and re-establish the parameters for acceptable behavior…for everyone involved.” Abraxas walked over to the mirror to re-button his shirt and re-tie his tie. “I simply must remind her who the master of the house truly is,” he said, now more to himself than to Druella. 

“It’s not going to keep Laila’s shade away,” Druella said quietly.

Abraxas looked at Druella, his gaze sharp. “Perhaps not,” he said, softening slightly, “but having clear expectations, rules, and sanctions will restore some semblance of order in a house that has erupted into chaos of late. Having everything and everyone in their proper place is the first step to achieving that.” He gave himself one more look in the mirror before turning back at Druella once more. “Thank you for your counsel and your company, Druella. I flatter myself perhaps in the belief that it was mutually beneficial for giving us both some clarity.” He smiled.

Druella returned his smile, but it felt hollow, as if Abraxas had somehow missed the point. _Perhaps he always missed the point,_ Druella thought as Abraxas opened the door and strode confidently out. His default solution to any stressor was increased rigidity when sometimes more flexibility was needed, such as taking another wife rather than carrying a damaging, pathological Lumos for Laila after all this time. _He was right about one thing, though,_ Druella thought bleakly, as she followed Abraxas at a distance back to the ballroom. Laila had indeed been a gentling influence on him whilst she was alive, and his house had not been in balance since, and probably never would be again, at least not while Abraxas was master. 

As she came back into the ballroom, Druella saw her girls sitting with Lucius and the two Black boys, playing a game that involved slapping hands in some sort of a rhythm. Druella watched them fondly and with tentative hope in her heart, knowing that the answer lay there, in Lucius and one of her girls. One of them would be the key to bringing that balance back to Malfoy Manor. _Someday,_ Druella thought, watching Andromeda laugh at something Lucius had said, her eyes dancing. _Someday…_


	14. Ch. 37: Polyjuice; Ch. 38: The Coterie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> True to his word, Cygnus lets Druella accompany him secretly to the Coterie of Oberon's ritual of purification. Under disguise, Druella enters Malfoy Manor, only for Robena to accost her regarding the events that occurred the night of the Malfoys' Solstice Ball. Finally granted access, Druella observes the Coterie ritual, uncovering surprise after surprise therein. 
> 
> _Druella took her place at the back of the line that would form the processional down the stairs. As the line started to move and she began her descent into the darkness of the Malfoy Dungeon, Druella pulled her shoulders back and tilted her head up. She had set this chain of events into motion and would see it through to the end, come what may._ Then why do I feel such apprehension? _she wondered._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 38 was one of the most fun chapters to write; how often does one get an opportunity to bullshit quite to that level? I actually did a fair bit of research about secret societies prior to writing this work (like, I read two _whole_ books), and many of them are/were indeed little more than glorified sex cults, so the Coterie of Oberon isn't actually that much of a stretch. Or so I've been told...

THIRTY-SEVEN: POLYJUICE

Over the next 48 hours, Cygnus floated on a cloud. Whatever Adrien had done with him was enough to put him in such a harmonious frame of mind that a small part of Druella wondered why she hadn’t done something similar years before. She watched out of the side of her eye as Cygnus organized his correspondence at his desk, whistling atonally but with great cheer. He had not volunteered anything about what happened after he and Adrien had closed the door and Druella truly didn’t want to know. 

In spite of this, Druella did suspect that Cygnus had probably outbid her once that door had closed. He had likely promised Adrien to double what Druella was paying him and Casimir to be able to have Adrien six ways from Sunday. This possibility didn’t bother Druella as much as perhaps it should have; Adrien was so desirable and truly unique that even if Cygnus had taken him, the possibility of a second tryst would provide sufficient motivation for Cygnus to hold up his end of the bargain. Also, he had given Druella his word, something he would be reluctant to rescind in any circumstance. Strangely, Cygnus' marital infidelity had always ensured his steadfastness in other areas, a compensatory mechanism for which Druella was grateful now. 

Cygnus looked up from the desk and saw Druella at the door. He smiled. “Great party, Ella,” he said, for probably the twenty-fifth time.

Druella frowned in return. “I don’t know, Cygnus; I’m a little disappointed myself…” She looked away.

“Whatever for?” Now Druella heard a note of concern flavored with suspicion in Cygnus’ voice.

“Jade,” Druella sighed, before looking back at Cygnus with a wicked grin. “She was not as flagrant about flirting with Abraxas as we had expected…”

Cygnus did not return her grin, just forced a small smile. “Yes, well…we can’t all get what we want all the time, eh, Ella?”

Druella felt the smile slip from her face. During the party, Druella had quilled up Jade’s conservative behavior to the fact that, for once, Orion had actually accompanied her. Now Druella realized that Cygnus knew something and he wasn’t telling her what it was. “Speaking of getting what we want…” she said, turning and closing the door to the office. “How are we going to play the ritual tonight?”

Now it was Cygnus’ smile that disappeared. “Yes, about that…”

“Oh no.” Druella narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you dare back out now.”

Cygnus closed his eyes. “I’m not backing out. I want…what I said I wanted. And I’ll not break my word to you. But Ella…” He opened his eyes once more and Druella had never seen him look this serious. “Consider your demand with care. You’re going to see things that no outsider is meant to see and some of it you may find terribly distressing. I’m going to give you this one last chance to follow my advice and let it lie.”

Druella’s smile was grim now. “I’m not a child, Cygnus, and I’m tired of being a _de facto_ member with all I do for the Coterie without enjoying any of its benefits or being trusted with any of its secrets.” 

Cygnus paused for a moment before his face settled into a look of resignation. “Very well. I do have a plan, but it’s not without risk. You shall have to follow my instructions precisely or we’ll both be caught and the consequences will be unendurable.” 

Druella nodded. Over the next thirty minutes, Cygnus filled her in. The plan was risky, and more cunning than Druella had expected, although, to be fair, she had asked Cygnus to do the impossible. At nine o’clock, Druella put the girls to bed, kissing both of them good night before joining Cygnus in his bedroom (they hadn’t shared a bed since their first year of marriage and Druella found she slept more deeply alone anyway). “Best put on your costume,” Cygnus said, throwing her a bundle of garments and then turning his back. 

Rolling her eyes at Cygnus’ misplaced impression of her modesty, Druella stripped off her skirt and blouse, removed her earrings, her bracelets, and all of her jewelry, including her wedding ring. She put on the trousers, the Oxford shirt, the waistcoat, and finally the robes, which dragged on the floor. She then reached up and tapped Cygnus on the shoulder. 

He turned around. In seeing Druella in wizard’s attire, his eyes widened a fraction. He collected himself and handed her a large-sized flask, which held a murky liver-colored potion. Cygnus took the stopper out and then held a single, dark, curly hair over the top before dropping it in. The potion hissed and a few blue sparks crackled out of the top. When they finally sputtered out, Cygnus handed the flask to Druella. Now that it came down to it, Druella felt her heart beating fast as she took it from him. Slowly, she lifted it to her lips and took a generous swallow. She didn’t want to leave anything to chance by being dainty.

Druella tried hard not to gag as it went down: Polyjuice Potion was unpleasant every time, and she might have to self-administer it multiple times this night if her cover was going to hold. As the potion started to take effect, Druella closed her eyes, forcing her breathing to slow as the changes started. She felt her bones elongate and her chest flatten and broaden along with her shoulders, until she filled out the wizard garments. 

Even though this wasn’t her first go-around with Polyjuice, it was her first female-to-male transition and the new presence between her thighs was distracting to say the least, but it felt invasive to the host to dwell overmuch on it. Therefore, she made a brief adjustment to her trousers and opted to simply ignore what now lay down there on the right… _no the left…no the right…damn it, how do men deal with this thing?_ Druella thought in exasperation, making a few more adjustments to her trousers. 

Cygnus watched her with amusement, stroking his whiskers with one hand. Druella saw as well that his look was decidedly licentious. “No,” she said flatly, her voice now deeper to match her other changes. “Don’t even think about it. This is a rented set of robes, if you catch my meaning; things that _don’t belong to us_.”

Cygnus released his hand from his face, splaying his fingers in defeat. “You’re right, of course, Ella…I’m just…not used to seeing you like this,” he said, smiling sheepishly. 

Druella rewarded him with the most withering of looks, although she had no idea if her new face could convey the extent of her discomfort with the notion that Cygnus’ perverted mind now entertained.

Cygnus seemed to take the hint. He cleared his throat. “Best get to our business.”

Although the clock ticked, Druella crossed to the mirror. “Merlin’s Beard,” she muttered in her new voice. The face looking back at her was now none other than Francois Selwyn’s. She tried out his mild smile and found to her satisfaction that she could pull it off. The real Francois was sleeping peacefully in the guest bedroom, the same one that Adrien and Cygnus had used two nights prior. Druella had thought it best that she relieve him of his clothes after they had laced his pre-ritual libation with Draught of Living Death. She kept her wand, not wanting any but the wand she trusted should everything go pear-shaped. 

Polyjuicing Druella into Francois had been Cygnus’ idea and Druella had to grudgingly admit that it was a good one. Cygnus had explained that because it was Francois’ first Imbolc, his only duty would be to observe, as he had undergone a purification ritual as part of his initiation recently. This arrangement would be perfect for Druella, as she would not have to do anything. Still, Cygnus would not shut up about how he thought the entire enterprise was a bad idea. _Let it lie,_ he kept saying, _let it lie, Ella._

But Druella knew that she could no more let it lie than continue to be a party to it without being involved and so at 9:30 she and Cygnus Apparated to Malfoy Manor. The night was clear and cold and a fresh blanket of snow covered the grounds, deadening ambient sounds and imbuing everything with a sense of serenity. Before they entered, Druella grabbed Cygnus’ arm. “Don’t leave me,” she warned, her teeth chattering from the cold. 

“Relax, Ella, you’ll be fine,” Cygnus said, patting her awkwardly. Druella dropped his arm and they approached the gate. “ _Toujours Pur,_ ” he said. 

“ _Imperium in Sanctitas_ ,” Druella expertly parroted the Selwyn motto, Cygnus having compelled her to commit it to memory and repeat it dozens of times earlier that day. His persistence had annoyed her at the time, but now she was thankful. 

“ _Sanctimonia Vincet Semper,_ ” came the answer back and the gates opened for them. Druella fell into step to the left and half a pace behind Cygnus as would be appropriate for the respective stations of the real Francois when with Cygnus. The driveway seemed to be about a mile long as their shoes crunched on the white gravel. Druella used the walk to quickly review and mentally rehearse her part in this evening’s gathering. Cygnus had told her as little as he could get away with, but even he knew that if Druella was going to play-act a convincing Francois, she would at least need to know the basic formalities, procedures and traditions.

At each Imbolc, one of the brotherhood underwent the ritual of purification: the person deemed in the most need, a determination made by a motion, a seconding, and a vote. The Archon (the highest-held office), could cast a tie-breaking vote or, as needed, overrule the vote if he thought another person needed purification more than the nominee. Prior to the ritual, only the Archon (Abraxas Malfoy, Cygnus had told her) and the Prelate (Cygnus himself, the second-highest office) knew who the candidate would be. Cygnus wouldn’t go into detail of what the ritual involved, arguing accurately that Druella would soon see it for herself.

At the polished black door, Cygnus knocked once and then twice more. A house elf let them in, taking their winter cloaks. Because Cygnus was second-in-command only to Abraxas, they had to show up early. Abraxas met them at the door to the dungeon. “Wait here, Francois,” Abraxas said without any other greeting. 

“Wait, but…” Druella said, before Cygnus stood on her foot. 

“Perfect obedience,” Abraxas said coldly. “Why is that so difficult for you to comprehend, Neophyte?” 

Druella bowed her head in apparent contrition, all while her heart hammered. The one thing she had asked Cygnus not to do was the first thing he did upon their entrance to Malfoy Manor, disappearing down the stone stairs and leaving Druella alone in the marble hallway. She sighed. There was nothing for it, and after a few moments did indeed relax, suspecting little would occur other than her becoming a bit bored with waiting. 

She paced the hallway in front of the door while she waited, putting one foot directly in front of the other, back and forth, going one set further with each pass. She watched the enchanted marble tiles ripple under her feet as she walked, sending reverberations out to the walls that bounced back to her. If she timed it just right, she could send out one just as another was coming back to her. Druella smiled, not even noticing that she was now directly outside of the grand conservatory on the first floor. 

As she passed the open doorway, her mind bent to her trivial task, she felt in iron grip on her upper arm. Druella stumbled as her unseen assailant pulled her into the conservatory and slammed the door behind her. “Hey, ouch,” Druella said. 

“Did that hurt? Good,” said a familiar female voice, one that was normally quite refined for a witch of her station, but now came out as a savage hiss. 

“Erm…Miss March…?” Druella said, unaware of how Francois normally interacted with Lucius’ governess.

“Really?” Robena folded her arms. “ ‘Miss March?’ Is that what we’ve come to?”

Druella shrugged apologetically. “I’m not really sure what I’m supposed to do.” Given the circumstances, it seemed as appropriate response as anything else she could have said. 

“Well, yes, but then you never really are, are you, Francois?”

“What’s wrong, Robena?” Druella tried.

Robena placed her fingers lightly on her brow. “Merlin, where to start…” She dropped her hand after a heartbeat and looked back to Druella. “How could you do it? I know we didn’t leave things on the best terms and you were never madly in love with me, but how could you betray me so blatantly, so self-servingly, so cravenly and so completely? And to the man who has me in his power 24 hours a day and barely needs an excuse for the reprehensible things that he does on any given day?”

The look of bewilderment that Druella was sure she painted on Francois’ face was in no way feigned. “What did I do?” 

When Robena spoke again, she dropped her voice low and spoke slowly and carefully so Francois would miss nothing. “You told Abraxas Malfoy that we were lovers and _how_ we were lovers in painfully accurate detail.” 

This confirmed the rumors and hardly shocked Druella. “Perhaps I overstepped,” she said, “But this is just how men talk to each other when they’re alone and in their cups.” This Druella knew was true and applied universally, no doubt as much to Francois as to any other man. 

“No, no. You know damn well that’s not what this was and that Abraxas Malfoy is not just some mate of yours.” Robena tilted her head to the side. “Or perhaps you truly _don’t_ know. And you should know in whom you are placing your trust. You should have known before voluntarily drinking the Veritaserum he bade you drink, but by now it’s way too late. Still…” Robena traced the pattern on the top of the armchair next to her with one finger. “You should know the aftermath of your despicable actions.”

"My actions?"

Robena took a deep breath. “Abraxas Whisper Cursed the ball gown he lent me that evening, but you already knew _that,_ didn’t you?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “So you would know that not only did he hear every word I said that evening, but he heard _every_ vocalization. You always said you liked how vocal I was, didn’t you, Francois?” She smiled coldly at this. “And I was vocal that night as well. Did you know that Abraxas would hear _all_ of that while you had your head between my thighs?” She laughed mirthlessly. “Of course you knew. I suppose what I should be asking is, did you care?”

Druella said nothing although she felt her face turn red with this sudden and unwanted mental picture. Costumed in Francois' form, she knew she was hearing far too much, but this was far too interesting to ignore. Moreover, Robena had her pinned to the spot with this intense line of accusations.

Robena continued. “The point is this: he came to me that night, mere minutes after you spoke to him and so I can only surmise that your depraved talk fueled his actions. I most assuredly did _not_ want him, but that was immaterial to him. And he used what you said about my intimacy with you to justify forcing himself on me. Remember the footprints on my floor that you refused to identify for me? We duplicated them exactly, so don’t worry, I found out in the end exactly what had happened to the prior governess, perhaps _all_ of the prior governesses.”

Druella winced as she once again recalled her prophetic discussion with Jade Black and her more recent one with Abraxas himself.

“You’ve said nothing, Francois, so please, just tell me when to stop. He said that you had primed me for him that night, a favor from one pureblood to another. He took me from behind because he said that was how animals did it and that I was little more than—“

“Stop.” Druella had heard plenty. All of it was morally repugnant, but unfortunately not a surprise and she had indeed warned Robena the very night in question that it would happen. The bleak fact remained that it was just the way of the world. Powerful people would exploit the people beneath them and pureblooded dominance wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. Francois’ part in it was a surprise, as he never had seemed that cruel, but Druella also wasn’t sure what to do about it now that it had happened. “What were you hoping to achieve with all of this?” she finally asked, gesturing to both of them with one hand.

Robena looked as if she might hit Druella, but then her entire demeanor changed to one of resigned acquiescence. “Nothing, I suppose. You’ve made your alliances clear. If you feel comfortable with your part in my own exploitation then there is nothing else I could possibly say to you.” She held up her hand. “And before you protest that you only said it because Abraxas made you drink Veritaserum as part of some secret society admission, think long and hard about who or what made you decide to join that society in the first place.”

Druella frowned. “The Coterie? How do you know about that?”

“I overheard.” Robena's answer seemed evasive to Druella. “You’re not as subtle as you think you are.”

“You were spying on us?” Druella asked, putting a chill in her voice.

“Well, what was I supposed to do, Francois?” Robena crossed her arms in front of her. “You wouldn’t make love to me, which I can accept, but you lied about why. You didn’t identify the footprints that I asked you to identify and you acted strangely about the dress. I felt completely justified in finding out what you would say and it turns out I was right.”

“He would have done it anyway,” Druella said quietly. “Abraxas. He would have come for you even if I had said you were the chastest witch on the planet.”

“You don’t _know_ that,” Robena cried, hitting her fist on the back of the chair now.

 _Damn it, she’s right,_ Druella thought. Francois would not know that, even as Druella was absolutely assured of it. 

“Besides, if that’s any kind of apology, it was terrible.” Robena had folded her arms again.

“I’m sorry that you were hurt in any of this. But…”

”And there it is.”

“ _But,_ ” Druella continued pointedly, “Didn’t anyone warn you?”

Robena bit her lip and looked at the ceiling for a moment before glaring at Druella. “You purebloods are all the same. Merlin forbid any of you wizards or witches take a good, long, look in the mirror regarding _your_ part in any of this.”

“It’s the way of the world, Robena,” Druella said wearily. “It’s not going to change, so if you’re going to participate in it, you had best accept the stark realities, realities that are ancient and unyielding.” 

“Yes, because none of you grow a spine, least of all you, Francois,” Robena hissed, punctuating her words by poking Druella in the chest with her finger. “None of you will step up and say, ‘no, Mr. Malfoy, I’ll not play along with your cruelty, your bigotry, your unrelenting need to have dominion over everything and everyone. No, I don’t want to be in your siren-raping sex cult.’” She paused for a moment and fixed Druella with an intense glare. “You had the siren too, against her will; don’t bother denying it, Francois. He keeps her imprisoned in a marble statue for all eternity, you know, when he’s not using her for evil, but surely you must have no qualms about something as innocent and clearly _not-_ Dark Arts as that.”

Robena paused to take a breath. “Another thing that you absolutely should have said, but didn’t have the fortitude for was, ‘No, I don’t want to tell you that which is not your business: secret, intimate details shared between two lovers who trusted one another.’ That would have saved me a great deal of pain, fear, and humiliation, but you don’t care.” She shook her head. “I could go on and on. The truth of the matter is that we Muggleborns can only do so much. Any meaningful change is going to have to come from the likes of you.”

It may have been none of Druella’s business, but in knowing Francois was sworn into the Coterie and that he could have no possible future with the March girl, nor did she seem to want one, Druella decided that the best possible course of action was to burn this bridge. She looked at Robena coldly. “And do you know what _your_ problem is, Robena? You seem to have mistaken me for someone with an agenda to change the social order and go against everything I’ve ever been taught.”

“A social order _you_ benefit from, by the way.”

“Be that as it may, I’m not the man for that job nor am I willing to let my family down.” Druella hoped that Francois had never made any noises controverting these statements, but again, his allegiance lay with the Coterie, whose sole purpose was to maintain magical purity and strength. 

Robena drew a breath, seeming to gather all of her patience. “Yes, you’ve made that clear to me. I don’t expect contrition from you, perhaps I never did. Also, I may have been overly naïve to believe you would go against a system that ultimately strengthens you. But you loved me once, or at least were quite fond of me and I like to think that you respected me regardless. And you need to own your part in all of this. After all, you are the one who ultimately has to live with it.” 

She and Druella looked at each other, neither speaking. “Francois?” Druella finally heard Cygnus calling her from down the hall. Relief flooded into her. She moved back to the doorway and exited without another word. As she walked back down the hall, Druella felt deeply rattled by the conversation and once again internally cursed Cygnus for leaving her alone. If nothing else, the conversation made her reflect on her own philosophy regarding Mudbloods: they needed to remember their place in wizarding society, but she did not wish them ill. It seemed reasonable enough. 

Moreover, if Francois wanted to have an affair with a Mudblood, if they did not marry or produce an heir, well, it was no business of Druella’s or anyone else’s. She was not as caustic in her beliefs as Abraxas or Jade in this regard. She had meant what she said to Robena about the inevitability of Abraxas forcing her with or without any moral weaponry from Francois. That said, even for Abraxas it was low: to ask such a thing of Francois, whether it was Coterie business or not. It was also complete tosh. Never mind the damn Coterie: Abraxas had made Francois speak of Robena, likely in graphic terms, because he got off on it, end of story. _It was probably foreplay for him, as a matter of fact,_ Druella thought with distaste as she approached the dungeon door. 

_And siren-raping?_ Druella wondered. Had Francois literally raped a siren as part of his initiation? Had Cygnus, for that matter? The first slivers of dread started working their way into the back of Druella’s mind as Cygnus’ warning came back to her, _You’re going to see things…you may find terribly distressing._ Druella shook her head briefly, trying to center herself once more and focus on what she was to do next.

By then, the other members of the Coterie had arrived, less Abraxas, who must have been waiting downstairs. Druella took her place at the back of the line that would form the processional down the stairs. As the line started to move and she began her descent into the darkness of the Malfoy Dungeon, Druella pulled her shoulders back and tilted her head up. She had set this chain of events into motion and would see it through to the end, come what may. _Then why do I feel such aprehension?_ she wondered.

THIRTY-EIGHT: THE COTERIE

At the bottom of the stairs, the Coterie ritual attire hung on hooks in alcoves, with each individual station marked with Roman letters on the wall above them. Druella’s was situated at the back, labeled _Neophyte_ , a simple black cassock, which she pulled over her head, taking a surreptitious drink of Polyjuice from her hidden flask just prior. Next she donned the Stole of Office, which in her case was also a simple black satin strip that she draped around her neck so that it hung evenly on each side of her chest. Last she put on the plain cowl of black felted wool and drew it over her head. As she dressed, Druella looked at the others out of the side of her eye. Although they all wore similar cassocks and cowls, the Stole of Office became more ornate as one moved up the ranks, with Cygnus wearing a wide piece of silver fabric embroidered in many colors with arcane symbols. 

When everyone was ready, they marched into the dungeon proper and formed a circle around a raised platform, draped with white silk that fairly glowed in the light from the hundreds of candles floating in the damp air. Next to the platform stood a wooden frame with two steel rings hanging down from it. In an echo of the circle they formed with their bodies, a white circle within a circle was enchanted onto the floor in front of them. Glowing runes floated lazily between the two circles and Druella could feel the power radiating onto her face and the front of her body. She knew better than to step into the double circle without permission and so waited.

As she stood still, she noted two empty spots in the circle, one at the 12 o’clock position and one at the six o’clock position. Abraxas was still nowhere to be found. When everyone stood in their assigned places, Cygnus closed the 12 o’clock gap. “Let us begin,” he said in a deeper, more commanding voice than Druella was used to. “I shall conduct the invocation.” He raised his hands as the Coterie members and Druella crossed their hands in front of them. “ _Magic is our force…”_

“ _Magic is our blood right,_ ” came the response from the Coterie, delivered in perfect synchronization.

“ _Magic is our life’s most sacred entitlement…”_

_“Magic is our life’s most profound commitment…_

_“Thus, we shall preserve our power, our force, our blood right, our most sacred entitlement, and our most profound commitment through our collective and individual purity. In the name of Oberon, the spirit of magic that guides us in all things, may our purity be preserved, may it be for all eternity.”_

_“May it be for all eternity.”_

With this final statement, the group fell silent. Cygnus dropped his hands. “Tonight is the sacred rite of Imbolc, wherein one of our revered brotherhood shall undergo the holy purification ritual. Although we may have pure blood, such is not sufficient to maintain our integrity. We must be pure in deed, in belief, and in intention. When one member deviates from this path, we all deviate. When one member stumbles, we all stumble. And when one member needs guidance and correction, it is up to us, through our Oath of Support to provide that correction through loving discipline.”

“ _Yes, Prelate,_ ” the Coterie responded.

Cygnus took a deep breath. “Fellow brethren of the Coterie, know that any of us may deviate and tonight, our Recipient is Archon Abraxas Malfoy.”

With this announcement, some muttering broke out in the circle and Druella felt an eyebrow go up. 

“Silence,” Cygnus intoned and immediately the room stilled. “Some of you may believe that our Archon behaving in any manner other than absolute perfection in purity is hypocrisy. To you, I say shame. Are any of us blameless? Are any of us free of guilt?” He looked sternly around the room.

“ _No, Prelate,_ ” came the response. 

Cygnus nodded. “You are correct. None of us is above reproach.” He paused for a moment to let his message sink in. Druella felt impressed at Cygnus’ ability to command the room; this was truly a different Cygnus than she, and perhaps the rest of the wizarding world, knew. “I shall now give the inception of the ritual over to the Hierophant.” Cygnus stepped back and Orion Black stepped forward. 

He had a carved brass bell in one hand and a small striker in the other hand. Each time Orion struck the bell, the white runes in the circle pulsed and as he increased the tempo, they glowed brighter. After he had struck the bell the requisite 12 times, he stepped back. “He comes,” Orion said. 

“ _He comes, in supplication, in reverence, in commitment…_ ” the Coterie chanted, repeating the phrase, but at different speeds and intonations, creating an interweaving pattern of sound. Through the gap in the circle, Abraxas walked slowly. He wore nothing but a rough-spun un-dyed tabard, held on with a rope, a far cry from the fine tailored dress robes in which Druella had last seen him. When he came to the 12 o’clock gap he stopped.

“How do you approach your purification, Recipient?” Cygnus asked Abraxas solemnly.

“With perfect love, perfect trust, and perfect obedience, Prelate,” Abraxas answered with something in his voice Druella had never heard in the time she had known him: humility.

“Then enter the circle in perfect love, perfect trust, and perfect obedience,” Cygnus replied.

Abraxas took a step forward, and as he breached the circle of power, he closed his eyes and shuddered. Druella could see the gooseflesh rise on his arms. “And now we shall close the circle about you, enclosing you in purity and light,” Orion said.

Druella knew this next part. She unclasped her hands and reached out to each side, joining hands with the wizard to her right and to her left. The only person who did not join was Orion, presumably because he was going to conduct the ritual. He had also entered the circle with Abraxas and now drew his wand. He drew a great sweeping circle with his wand over his head and cried out the incant “ _Fulminus!_ ” Lightning sparked from Orion’s wand and radiated out into the circle. Druella gasped as the spell suddenly infused her body with a pins and needles sensation and her hands closed involuntarily. Cygnus warned her about this feeling, and that her muscles would contract against her will and she wouldn’t be able to open her hands until the ritual was over.

As one, the Coterie took a step forward, all crossing the circle. As Druella stepped in, she felt as if she were bathed in light, that it was filling every dark aspect of her, every mean, petty, jealous part and filling it with the purest and cleanest magical energy. She was sure that it was shining out of her fingers and toes and she felt a smile warm her face. 

“Recipient, are you prepared for purification?” Orion asked.

“Yes, Hierophant,” Abraxas answered.

“Have you cleansed yourself bodily?” 

“Yes, Hierophant.”

“Then approach the altar and assume the position.”

Abraxas stepped around the white-draped platform and underneath the frame, now facing away from Druella. He slowly lifted his arms up towards the rings. 

“ _Incarcerous,_ ” Orion said, his wand now pointed at Abraxas. Immediately, ropes flew out of the end of Orion’s wand and bound each of Abraxas’ arms to the rings, rendering him immobile. Orion then untied the rope around Abraxas’ waist and let it fall to the flagstone floor of the dungeon before removing the rough tabard. Druella felt a faint flush warm her face at Abraxas’ now-naked form in front of her. His well-muscled back and shoulders betrayed not an ounce of softness anywhere. He may not have been her type, but Druella knew a pleasing male shape when she saw one and hadn’t seen many others besides Cygnus, and even that hadn’t been for years now. She just hoped she wasn’t gawking at him. Self-conscious, she brought her expression back to one of deference and waited for what was to come.

“Your first purification shall be through pain,” Orion said from Abraxas’ other side. His voice was just as mild now in ritual as it was in his scant conversation, as if commenting on the weather. 

“Yes, Hierophant.”

Orion crossed behind Abraxas and Druella could see the multi-stranded whip that had replaced his wand in his right hand. “12 lashes shall you receive, Oberon’s sacred number.” Orion put the whip on his own chest and bowed his head. “I invoke thee, O Mighty Oberon, chastise thy servant Abraxas Malfoy through my humble hand, so that his feet may find the steady path of thy purity once more, his mind shall focus on thoughts of thy purity, and his heart shall beat in the light of thy purity.”

“ _May it be,_ ” the Coterie responded. 

Orion lifted his head and Druella noticed the light of zealotry in his usually far-away eyes. He then drew the whip back and brought it down so fast Druella could hear what was likely 12 separate strands whistling through the air at the same time. They hit Abraxas’ exposed flesh a split second later with a sickening and inevitable slap. 12 lines of red appeared, beads of blood already present at their ends. Druella saw all the muscles in Abraxas’ back tense with the contact of the whip, but he didn’t make a sound. Orion drew his arm back once again and brought the whip down a second time, creating 12 more lines to cross the first. And again. And again. 

By the sixth blow, Druella could see Abraxas’ hands, white-knuckled around the ropes that bound him, the muscles and tendons of his forearms standing out. By the ninth blow, small rivulets of blood coursed down his back. By the eleventh and twelfth blow, Abraxas hissed through his teeth as they fell, but to his credit, he still didn’t make any other sound. When he finished, Orion relaxed. Seeing him be the one to ply the whip so skillfully and cruelly shocked Druella. Orion, the hermit. Orion, the genius. Orion, the absentee husband and father, was the same person to masterfully and brutally flay Abraxas’ flesh. His task complete, Orion stowed the whip and drew his wand once more. “ _Finite Incantatum_ ” he said, pointing it at Abraxas.

The ropes melted away and Abraxas dropped his arms slowly. As he did, more blood dripped down his back. He rolled his shoulders, likely in an effort to ease some of the tension and turned so now he was sideways to Druella. Druella tried to avert her eyes, but it was too late, she had already noticed Abraxas’ erection. “Your second purification shall be through pleasure,” Cygnus said. _Oh,_ Druella thought, _Well, that’s_ that _explained._ Or else Abraxas got off on pain. Druella knew that some witches and wizards did, although she would have pegged Abraxas as the type of man more likely to get off on the pain of others rather than his own. 

In any event, it was obvious to everyone in the room with eyes that regardless of the reason, Abraxas was ready for whatever was coming next. It did present Druella with a sense of confusion and no small measure of curiosity. In a room full of men, who was to perform the next part of the ritual? Cygnus may have preferred to receive and give sexual pleasure through males, but Druella was positive that Abraxas did not or if he did, it was certainly the exception and not the rule. Druella let her eyes deviate right and left, wondering if one of their number would break the circle or if maybe Abraxas was on his own and they were all in for an auto-erotic show. 

Druella blushed at the thought before chastising herself roundly for her reaction. She was not some naïve young girl to be undone by the idea of a naked man pleasuring himself. Still, she never in a million years would have expected that such a person would be Abraxas Malfoy. As a faithfully married woman, Druella felt as if she should not see it. On the other hand, she knew had to own her participation in this ritual. She had manipulated, blackmailed, and engineered her presence in this room now and she owed it both to herself and certainly to Cygnus to see it through to the end, come what may.

“Your submission now shall not be to the lash, but to the Spirit of Purity. Your pain has served a purpose, Recipient, but shall be subdued for the next part of the ritual.” 

“Oberon be merciful,” Abraxas said.

“ _Oberon be merciful,_ ” the Coterie responded. 

Orion nodded once, before pointing his wand at Abraxas’ lacerated back. “ _Aesthetis Torpidis,_ ” Druella saw the tension leave Abraxas’ back and shoulders from the numbing spell's effects. “Suppinate yourself upon the altar,” Orion commanded. Abraxas responded by lying on his back on the white-draped platform with his arms at his sides. In fact, he looked completely relaxed. _Almost relaxed,_ Druella thought, her wayward eyes drifting down Abraxas’ body once more. _One part of him seems quite stiff still._ She had to fight a sly smile from appearing on her face. Not that anyone was watching, but Francois must appear reverent or at the very least neutral. 

Orion raised his arms overhead, much like Cygnus had done at the beginning. “We now invoke thy Spirit of Purity, O Gentle Oberon. May she manifest in our sacred circle to possess our Recipient.” _She?_ Druella thought, frowning. Orion’s voice rang with a passion Druella had never heard. “Present thyself, O Spirit of Purity, we beseech thee.” 

“ _We beseech thee…_ ” echoed the members of the circle. Druella did the same, or at least pretended at it, although her hands were starting to cramp from being forced to grip on both sides for so long. There was nothing for it, however; she couldn’t have dropped her hands even if she had wanted to. 

“Rejoice! She comes,” Orion said, his attention now at the six o’clock position. “Our Interlocutor and our fellow member shall draw up the gate for her passage.” At this, the two wizards lifted their arms, still joined to make an arch. A new figure ducked through the arch, clothed head-to-toe in a translucent white robe, slit high on both sides to reveal from her toes to her hips. Upon the mysterious newcomer's head lay a veil and scarf that mostly obscured her face; all Druella could tell was that she _had_ facial features. The veil was opaque just enough to conceal anything that might identify her. 

Although the woman was not large, she carried herself with dignity, her steps measured and her shoulders drawn back. Whoever she was, she did not seem to be doing any of this against her will, nor did she seem to be moving in the slightly intoxicated state of one tranced or Imperius Cursed. _But who in the name of Merlin_ is _she?_ Druella thought. Only the mounting sense of betrayal she was beginning to feel towards Cygnus matched her sense of vexation over not knowing. 

The woman stopped on Abraxas’ right side, closest to Druella. “O Spirit, we thank thee for manifesting in our sacred circle on this our most holy of nights to purify thy servant Abraxas Malfoy," Orion said. "When you join with him in body and in spirit, your purity shall restore his own and for this we are most humbly grateful. In thy chalice shall he drink deeply of thy purity.”

“In thy chalice shall I drink deeply of thy purity,” Abraxas said with reverence. 

“ _In thy chalice shall he drink deeply of thy purity._ ” 

The woman nodded once. _It's definitely a woman, not a spirit and it_ has _to be a pureblood. There_ are _women in the Coterie and Cygnus is a Hades-damned liar. They all are,_ Druella concluded bitterly. 

“Join him now, O Spirit,” Orion said. “Mount our Recipient and consecrate his spirit in thy chalice of purity.” 

Despite her long robes, the woman hopped up onto the altar without difficulty. Without further ceremony, she put one leg on either side of Abraxas and eased herself onto him. Her robes hid what they were doing, but her shudder and Abraxas’ closed eyes revealed plenty. Then she started to move, slowly at first, and then faster as the Coterie chanted all around them. The enthusiasm with which the woman applied herself made it occur to Druella that Abraxas must be grateful for Orion’s anesthetic spell on his back as without it, he would have been purified by pain a second time. 

In watching the woman approach the apex of her pleasure, Druella felt a warmth start below her belly. She shifted uncomfortably at how her unbidden desire manifested in the most inconvenient of ways in her currently male body, an insistent presence pressing against the inside of her trouser leg. _Francois, I am most heartily sorry,_ she thought as she tried very hard not to squirm, the discomfort in her hands momentarily forgotten with this new bodily distraction. Druella glanced around and blushed for what must have been the fifth or sixth time that night in seeing that many other wizards in her close proximity were also in a right state as a result of witnessing this part of the ritual. 

Just then, the woman cried out, her vocal ecstasy ringing from the stone walls. A moment later, Abraxas climaxed as well, but this time Druella did look away. She couldn’t do it to him. It was too personal. She was witnessing this without his consent and it seemed ill-done, especially in light of their conversation from the other night. Besides, she was no voyeur. _Are you sure about that?_ a wicked voice in her head asked as her desire continued to beat into her rented body’s now-prominent organ. Druella could also feel sweat starting to drip down her back and by now she wanted nothing so much as to get out of there. Cygnus was right: it was distressing, all of it, and Druella had an inkling that Imbolc was one of their milder rituals. 

Spent, the woman moved gently off of Abraxas, a faint tremor now present in her legs. As the woman climbed off the table, Druella noticed something below those pristine white robes, something that made her do a double take: a flash of diamonds encircling one slender ankle. 

“Son of a succubus,” Druella exclaimed.


	15. Ch. 39: Spirit of Purity; Ch. 40: Caught

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following the ritual, Druella sneaks into a side room to find Walberga "Jade" Black. Even though the Coterie used Jade merely as a pawn, she is elated from her experience in the ritual, but Druella explains to her that she could be so much more. Abraxas cuts their conversation short. The fangs come out as Druella and Abraxas go wand-to-wand both literally and figuratively. 
> 
> _“Rise in the light of purest magic, Recipient.”_
> 
> _Draped like a senator from the times of antiquity, Abraxas stood now, a fanatical light in his blue eyes._
> 
>  __Sweet Merlin, _Druella thought with incredulity,_ he—they—actually believe all of this malarkey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At one point in _Order of the Phoenix,_ Sirius Black mentions his parents and their _pure-blooded mania._ This quote is pretty much what inspired these fun Coterie chapters. And my Chapter 40 Druella has some serious BDE, as the kids say.

THIRTY-NINE: SPIRIT OF PURITY

Unfortunately, Druella’s comment was loud enough for her left-hand companion to give her a sharp glance. Across the room, Cygnus also shot her a look of fear-filled warning and shook his head ever so slightly. Druella swallowed, mortified with the idea that she might have blown it. She bowed her head piously. “Oberon be praised,” she murmured, “Oberon be praised.” 

Her devout mumbling must have done the trick, because her companions turned back to face the center of the circle. In the middle, Orion drew his wand once more. “ _Finite incantatum,_ ” he said, making another grand circle over his head. At the same moment, everyone dropped hands. Druella resisted the urge to stretch her fingers, to make the knuckles pop and shake out the pins and needles that seemed to reside there. Instead, she folded her hands the one in the other and placed them over her chest, just as all the others did. 

“Farewell, O Spirit of Purity,” Orion said, his wand stowed and his hands folded as well. He bowed from the waist as the woman who Druella now identified as Jade Black folded her hands and made a graceful bow of her own. 

“ _Farewell, O Spirit of Purity,_ ” came the inevitable echo from the circle.

Jade turned and walked slowly out the way she had come in. After she had gone, all stood. Cygnus joined Orion and Abraxas in the center of the circle, some sort of white cloth or garment hanging from his outstretched hands. “Are you renewed in a pure magical spirit, Recipient?” he asked Abraxas, who had gotten up from the table and stood between Orion and Cygnus. 

“I am, Prelate,” Abraxas said with his head held high.

“It is well. Oberon is pleased.”

“ _It is well._ ”

“Kneel, Recipient, and receive the mantle of Purity.” 

Abraxas took a knee and Cygnus circled him, draping the yards of white fabric about his shoulders and waist.

“Rise in the light of purest magic, Recipient.”

Draped like a senator from the times of antiquity, Abraxas stood now, a fanatical light in his blue eyes.

 _Sweet Merlin,_ Druella thought with incredulity, _he—they—actually believe all of this malarkey._

“Collected brethren of the Coterie, kneel to receive the Recipient’s Benediction.”

As one, the members of the Coterie plus Druella knelt. The flagstones felt hard and bumpy beneath her knee. As before, she tried not to squirm, but everything about this entire evening had been profoundly uncomfortable. And now her face was starting to itch, adding to her irritation, particularly as she dare not scratch. Yet again, Druella had little choice but to wait.

Abraxas started with the wizard to Druella’s left and then walked around the circle clockwise, touching each member on the head with both hands before moving onto the next one, which meant that he would reach Druella last. He had gotten about three down from Druella before her back started to feel tight, not from immobility but because it felt as if the bones and the spaces between them were contracting. Then the strangeness started in her chest: a pressure, a softening, and then an increase in sensitivity. 

_No,_ Druella thought as she realized what was happening. _No, no, no, no, no! Have I really been down in the Malfoy dungeon long enough for the swallow of Polyjuice I took just prior to the ritual to wear off?_ As subtly as she could, she patted down her pockets, her panic mounting with her inability to find the flask. _Where in Merlin’s name is it?_ Even with her panic mounting, Druella still tried to make her movements as small as possible.

By now, Abraxas was five away from her, then four, then three…The one saving grace that Druella had was that her cowl obscured her face, so if that part of her was changing, it would at least remain hidden. After that Druella had no idea what she would do. Sweat beaded on her forehead and upper lip. Finally Abraxas got to her. All she could see was his bare feet against the damp, charcoal-gray flagstones and the hem of his draped white garment. 

Abraxas touched her on the head with both hands. He leaned down. “Go in peace and purity, Neophyte." Druella caught the faintest hint of sarcasm in his voice, before Abraxas moved a hand down to her shoulder and squeezed hard. Druella drew her breath between her teeth, her heart hammering with the near-surety that he hac caught her. “Go Obliviate her, Francois,” Abraxas hissed in Druella’s ear.

“Wh-what?” Druella pitched her tone low to try and mask her own voice, her heart lightened considerably at her cover apparently still remaining intact.

“Perfect obedience. Such a difficult notion, isn’t it? I said, ‘Obliviate her.’ Our Spirit of Purity. Go into the second antechamber where she waits and wipe her memory. I’ll not tell you again.” Abraxas then moved back into the center of the circle. Her heart hammering, Druella slipped out of it, crossing over the magical line once more. As she slunk quickly from the room, she patted herself down once more, frenzied in her search for her missing Polyjuice. She passed through the room that held the Coterie apparel and looked in Francois’ Neophyte nook, but could find it nowhere. 

Druella had to hide. _Obliviate her,_ Abraxas had said, meaning Jade, of course. _The second antechamber._ Druella looked around her, finally seeing a wooden door down a narrow passage to her left. Even though she wasn’t sure what she would do on the other side, she ducked through it, shutting the door quickly and quietly behind her. 

Inside she found a room that must have been Extension Charmed, as there was no way it would have fit the existing space otherwise. It was richly furnished, with a four-poster bed and canopy, several couches, and a fireplace with a soft, white sheepskin rug in front of it. It was on this rug that Druella found Jade, relaxing supine with her knees drawn up, her arms over her head, and her fingers caressing the luxurious white fibers beneath her. A smile of genuine pleasure shone on her face, devoid of snideness or bitterness or any of the other things that Jade’s smile usually carried. Her eyes were closed and her chest moved rapidly up and down. 

Clearly, she hadn’t heard Druella come in. “Was it everything you hoped for?” Druella asked, pulling her cowl off.

Jade’s eyes flew open and she sat up quickly. Her expression ran a course from shocked, to angry, to guilty, before finally settling on defiance. “Yes,” she said. “But what in Merlin’s name are you doing here, Druella?”

Druella drew her wand and sat in an armchair adjacent to where Jade sat on the carpet. “Well, I’m supposed to be Obliviating you right now.”

“Wait just a minute—“

“Oh, relax,” Druella snapped. She then softened her tone in the realization that she really was in no position to judge Jade her own choices this evening. “As you may have guessed, I’m not really supposed to be here.”

A small smile found its way onto Jade’s face. “Why, Druella Black, whatever do you mean?”

Druella sat on the carpet with Jade now, crossing her legs. “Didn’t you tire of it?” Druella asked. “Surely you must have known at least a little about the Coterie in the years that you’ve been married to Orion; weren’t you getting sick of not being involved, of being ignored and disregarded simply for your womanhood? Tell me that you’re not here just to sate your desire for Abraxas Malfoy.”

Jade rested her arms lightly on her knees. “I did want him,” she said quietly. “Merlin knows that I did—that I _do_.” She looked into the fire, her mouth twisted. “Orion hasn’t touched me in years and even when he did, it was never what you might call passionate, and yet I’ve been faithful to him.” She laughed mirthlessly before looking back at Druella. “Why did I do that, Druella? I mean, why did I bother? It seems so silly in retrospect…”

Druella shifted in her now-too-large garments. She could easily have asked herself the same question: why was she bothering to be loyal, at least sexually loyal, to Cygnus, who extended no such courtesy to her and probably wouldn’t care if she found her pleasure elsewhere if she exercised discretion? Unbidden, the image of Casimir kissing her hand came to mind before she dismissed it. 

Jade continued. “Look, I’m not a simpleton. I know that they were using me just now, but to have what I wanted legitimately, even with my husband’s approval…” she shook her head, a glimmer of that light-filled smile creeping back onto her face, “I can give you an unequivocal ‘yes,’ to your question. It was absolutely what I had built it up to be and I’d do it again in without hesitation.” Her expression had shifted back to the defiant one, the one that dared Druella to judge her.

“You do realize that it’s on Abraxas Malfoy’s orders that I’m here to Obliviate you, don’t you?” Druella turned her wand over in her hands.

Jade sighed, but didn’t answer.

“My point is, you shouldn’t settle for—“

“I’d hardly call it settling,” Jade cut in defensively.

“Let me finish. You shouldn’t settle for being the Coterie’s doxy.”

“I did it of my own free will, Druella.” Jade wrapped her arms around herself protectively. 

“Well, that’s good, at least someone in this house has a choice about having sex with Abraxas,” Druella muttered.

“What?”

Druella sighed. “Never mind. Just…have some self-respect, Jade. You—we—other witches of our pedigree can and should be privy to the affairs of the Coterie, if not be full members ourselves. Now, I would be naïve indeed if I believed that any of the magical ritual parts tonight were real. No, I think the Coterie is no more than a glorified sex cult.” She mentally thanked Robena March for that most apt phrase, borne out in what Druella had witnessed that evening. “But it has the potential to be so much more than that. Witches could turn all of that ridiculous pantomiming into the real thing and generate some legitimate magical power in concert. But even without that, the most powerful wizards in our world are part of this group and they make decisions behind these closed doors that affect all of us, and yet do so without our input. That needs to change.”

“I’m not sure I agree,” Jade said, looking to the side. “The Coterie has existed without women for centuries. Their power stems from their animus. Women would throw that off.”

Druella gave her a withering look. “Did ‘the Hierophant’ tell you that? Or did the ‘Archon?’” 

Jade still wouldn’t meet her eyes.

Druella tried a different tack, one more likely to work on an infatuated witch still bathing in her warm afterglow. “Very well, Jade.” She stood up from the floor and stretched her back. “Have it your way. It’s just too bad for you that this needs to be a one-time thing.”

“What needs to be a one-time thing?” Jade's voice was tinged with suspicion. She stood as well, straightening her gauzy drapery.

Druella waved the hand that didn’t hold her wand. “This… _dalliance_ , I guess you could call it, with the most _potent_ wizard in our world…” She stepped behind Jade now, whose breathing had sped up with Druella’s words, “With the purest and _longest_ …lineage.” She smirked at her own innuendo. “The one that you just got to have and who was, from what I can gather, the best you’ve _ever_ had.”

Jade swallowed. “Go on,” she whispered. 

Druella knew that Jade responded to Abraxas’ purity and power; that’s what turned her on so about him, in addition to the fact that he was easy on the eyes. “If you were a Coterie member, one day you might need your own purification ritual. Imagine, if you will, that Abraxas was the Spirit of Purity that night, coming to you on the altar instead of the other way round…” 

“That sounds…” Jade’s words drifted off into a sigh in rapture.

 _She’s like a starry-eyed schoolgirl,_ Druella thought with wonder. “But it can’t happen,” she concluded flatly. “You shall never have that kind of control unless you become a full member of the Coterie. Oh sure, they may throw you the scraps from their table, but even if you get everything your heart desires with Abraxas, he and the rest of the Coterie will ensure that you remember none of it.” 

With that, Jade’s face fell before she looked at Druella once more. “What can we do, though? What hope do we have?” 

Druella thought for a moment. “As to that—“

The sound of the door opening cut her next statement off. She and Jade both froze. “Francois, I sincerely hope you’re done by now,” came Abraxas’ voice. Even though he moved into the room towards them, something in his hand diverted his attention. “Because I would like to ask you about this potion flask I found on the floor outside of your—“ He stopped dead in his tracks as he beheld Druella and Jade, as immobile as if they had been Petrified. 

FORTY: CAUGHT

Abraxas looked from Jade to Druella and then back again, disbelief giving way on his face to barely-controlled wrath. Instead of moving towards them, he strode back to the open door. Someone must have been on the other side, because Druella heard him give the hissed order, “Fetch Cygnus. Now.” He then turned back to the two witches. “Stow your wand, Druella,” he said, his voice quiet.

Druella thought for a moment. “No." She shook her head.

“No?” Abraxas raised both eyebrows. “Are you in earnest right now?”

“Deadly earnest,” Druella did not let her wand deviate even a millimeter from Abraxas’ core. 

Abraxas smiled at her. “You’re no more than a cornered animal, Druella, and as easily dealt with.” As quick as a striking serpent, he drew his own wand. “ _Expelliarmus!_ ” they cried at the same time. Sparks flew out of both their wands and collided in mid-air, cracking like close lightning and shattering a glass vase next to them. 

Jade cried out and put her hands over her ears. 

Druella recovered first. “ _Stupefy!_ ” Abraxas dodged and the spell hit a curio box behind him, knocking it to the floor. The box spilled its contents: some opalescent and luminous gemstones, which skittered across the flagstone floor.

“ _Relashio,_ ” Abraxas fired back and Druella ducked. The spell hit Jade behind her, forcing her to drop her hands from her ears and hold them stiffly at her sides. 

“STOP!” Cygnus roared from the doorway, his wand out as well.

Abraxas and Druella both froze in place, glaring at each other and breathing hard, their wands still pointed at one another. In that moment, Druella felt Francois’ trousers start to slip down her hips and she had to use her non-wand hand to shimmy them back up again, lest she show her backside to the assembly. A smile pulled at the corner of her mouth. What a comic scene the two of them must have painted: her in danger of losing her borrowed and overly large garments and Abraxas flapping about in naught but a glorified bedsheet. Druella’s abdomen gave a spasm of mirth and she snorted. The other three looked at her sharply. Druella started laughing unreservedly then, until her midsection hurt and her eyes watered. 

“I see nothing humorous about this.” Abraxas stood up straight and put his wand away, all while adjusting his own ridiculous get-up. 

That only made Druella laugh harder. “Of course you don’t,” she said, wiping her eyes. “That’s the entire problem.” 

Abraxas looked down his nose at her. “Excuse me if I don’t find amusement in such a massive security breach. Or in the idea that somebody…” He glared at Cygnus, “Likely betrayed the Coterie by assisting you to interlope on our most sacred of rituals.” 

Druella laughed once more. “Yes, your so-called purification ritual was most…stimulating.”

“Have a care about mocking that which you don’t understand,” Abraxas warned her coldly. “And a company into which you have not, nor will you _ever_ be initiated or welcomed.” 

“Oh, please,” Druella sneered, now folding her arms. “You need me, Abraxas. I didn’t realize just how much until tonight.”

“I can assure you that I don’t,” Abraxas said, before catching himself. “That _we_ …don’t.”

“Oh ho, you do indeed: you need me to cut through the complete hogwash that is the Coterie of Oberon."

“Come again?” Abraxas sat on the arm of one of the armchairs, his look now one of mild confusion that Druella knew was feigned.

“This, _all_ of this…is complete dragon shit.” Druella gestured to Abraxas in his sheet, Cygnus shifting uneasily from one foot to the other, his eyes wide with guilt and anxiety, and Jade shivering in her sheer Spirit of Purity attire. “And no one has the testicular fortitude to tell you the truth, because—and congratulations by the by—they all fear you too much.” She closed the distance as she spoke. “But I have never, nor will I ever fear you, Abraxas Malfoy.” She now stood six inches away from him, able to stare him down only because she was standing and he was sitting. 

In response, Abraxas stood, towering over Druella by a head. Still, she did not move an inch. “Bold words considering that you are surrounded by my loyalists." He kept his voice quiet and calm.

“Oh, you can silence me, no doubt,” Druella dropped her tone to match his, “You can Obliviate me so I forget all that I witnessed this evening; as you say, I am surrounded by your yes-men, and women, too, apparently.” Her eyes flicked to Jade with this, who at least had the grace to look down and away, her arms still enveloping her torso and her shoulders tensed. Druella turned back to Abraxas. “But it shall not change the fact that the Coterie is little more than a bacchanal for idle pureblood stuffed-robes.”

“Again, based on your very limited understanding of all of it,” Abraxas responded.

Druella stood back and looked at Jade. “Tell me, did you feel the Spirit of Purity descend upon you tonight at any point during the ritual?” 

“I—“ Jade’s eyes flicked from Druella’s to Abraxas’ and back again. Her shoulders fell. “No,” she whispered.

Druella smiled and turned once again to Abraxas. “This one here?” She jerked her head back towards Jade. “She wanted to have you. Carnally,” Druella added the last word in a stage whisper, in case anyone could possibly doubt her meaning. “It was literally just about that, at least for her.”

Abraxas sighed in annoyance at Jade’s betrayal. “Be that as it may,” he said carefully, “the ritual of purity dates back eons and serves a critical function within our group.”

“Oh, no one doubts that,” Druella said impatiently, “Bored, quasi-faithfully married men and women have always needed an excuse to dally with tractable acquaintances that would otherwise be off limits. However, you are deceiving yourself if you believe that tonight’s ritual was anything more than a way for the two of you to satisfy your desire and curiosity, as well as providing the rest of your depraved voyeurs a spectacular show.”

“And what of you, Cygnus?” Abraxas asked, turning his attention now to Druella’s husband. “What is your involvement with your meddlesome wife’s intrusion?” 

“Well, that is…erm…” Cygnus started, his face turning red. He tugged at his collar.

“Remember our talk from the other night?” Druella asked Abraxas.

“Oh, quite clearly.”

“The other party in question represented the exchange to get me in; Cygnus would get _everything_ that he wanted after tonight if he could smuggle me in undetected.” She said all of this in the most general terms and very pointedly so Abraxas would understand but Jade would not. 

“You lied to me?” Abraxas' voice filled with uncharacteristic hurt. 

Druella felt a twinge of remorse. “Not exactly,” she said primly. “I simply omitted the full truth.”

“Ah.” Abraxas turned from her now and put his hands behind his head, stretching his back and grimacing from the contact of his damaged flesh with the fabric of his drape. “Well, I must admit, I’m at a loss,” he finally said, looking from Druella to Cygnus. 

“Why?” Druella shrugged. “The solution seems perfectly clear to me: induct myself and Jade into the Coterie posthaste and we can put this whole, silly business behind us.”

Abraxas dropped his hands. “That’s not going to happen and you know it.” 

“Whyever not?” Druella crossed to Jade, grabbing a throw blanket on the way and draping it gently about her shoulders. “Jade would like an excuse to have her womanly needs filled by you at least once more, if you would be amenable. Isn’t that right, dear?”

Even though Jade looked as if she would rather be anywhere else than in this conversation, she nodded miserably. Druella herself nodded in satisfaction before looking back at Abraxas. “And I can give you the practical and magical help as well as the forthright council you so desperately need.”

“Really? What possible help could I need from you?” Abraxas asked with contempt. “You’ve attended the ritual now and seen the one and only role that women are to play in it and by extension, in the Coterie itself.” He looked her up and down. “Strange, Druella, I’d never pegged you as a wanton, but if you’d like to take part in our rituals--with Cygnus’ permission of course--you too could be so fortunate as to play the Spirit of Purity next Imbolc.” He tilted his head to the side, sneering. “You’re a bit short of stature for my taste, a bit _used up_ , if you catch my drift, but perhaps someone else in the Coterie, someone with less, shall we say, _exacting_ standards would find some part of you pleasing to stick his—“

Druella didn’t let him finish. Her blood now pounding in her ears, she cracked him across the face as hard as she could with the flat of her hand. Immediately, Abraxas’ own hand flew up to where she had hit him, his face blank with astonishment. Beside them, Jade and Cygnus both made small cries of dismay. Druella ignored them both and glared at Abraxas. “I wouldn’t fuck you, not even in your arse, with a 12-inch cock and someone else doing the pushing,” she said, pitching her voice low and injecting her well-aimed profanity with as much poison as she could muster.

“Druella!” Cygnus breathed.

“Oh, shut it,” Druella snarled at Cygnus. “If you won’t come to my defense in any of this, save your breath to cool your potions.” She looked back at Abraxas. “Know that I have no interest in being the Coterie’s toy.” She turned to face Jade. “No offense meant, dear.” 

“Nor do I,” Jade said quietly.

“What?” Abraxas and Druella said at the same time.

Jade drew the blanket tight around her. “Because it appears that we’re being brutally honest, the only reason I agreed to this was because of you, Abraxas.” She drew close to him and started stroking his bare arm with the backs of her fingers.

Abraxas took her hand off of him gently. “I’m flattered, Mrs. Black, but all you were to me this evening was the Spirit of Purity and all you shall be tomorrow is my Hierophant’s wife.” 

Jade looked crestfallen before drawing her head up again. “Then I’ll take tonight for what it was, a very short, but greatly desired affair. However, make no mistake: I am no more the Spirit of Purity than you were in any way purified by what occurred tonight.” 

Abraxas was silent for a moment, looking at Jade and then Druella. “You are both mistaken and meddling in affairs far beyond you spiritually and magically.”

Druella wanted to shake him. “How can you be so short-sighted?” she cried out in exasperation. “With strong, capable, intelligent witches such as myself and Jade in the Coterie, you could perform actual rituals, _true_ rituals that would genuinely increase the magical power and purity of the Coterie, not this Quidditch team-room nonsense that you lads play at each month.” Druella rubbed at a spot on the side of her head where tension was building. “There’s scant magic here, _no_ meaningful ritual power, _no_ strengthening of anyone’s spiritual force, and absolutely _zero_ balance.” 

The last word got Abraxas’ attention, as it was intended to. He glanced at her sharply, before looking back at Cygnus. Everyone was silent for a moment. “This unfortunate incident can be contained,” Abraxas said finally, indicating Jade and Druella, all while ignoring everything they had said. “As long as we Obliviate these two.”

“Please don’t,” Jade said, her voice quiet in entreaty. “I don’t want to forget tonight and I’ll not tell a soul.”

“Really, you should reconsider,” Druella agreed, folding her arms. “I’m not going to tell anyone either and I am confident that you’ll come around. You shall see that this circus you call the Coterie is nowhere near its full magical potential and when you finally realize that, you’ll come to me.” 

“I’m willing to trust them,” Cygnus said with an apologetic shrug.

“Well, you _would_ be, now wouldn’t you?” Abraxas asked scathingly. “You still have your part in this underhanded bargain to look forward to, am I not correct?”

Redness crept up Cygnus’ cheeks and he cleared his throat. “Even so,” he said, a sheepish grin on his face, “Ella may not be entirely inaccurate in her…ah…assessment.” 

“Traitor.” Abraxas spat the word.

Cygnus flinched but held his ground. He dropped his voice low. “All I’m saying, Abraxas, is consider observing the line tonight or tomorrow. You know of what I speak.” 

“Turncloaks, all of you,” Abraxas muttered, glaring at each of them in turn. 

“On that note,” Druella sighed. “We had best be going. I feel as if I at least have overstayed my welcome.”

Abraxas said nothing, but rewarded her with another baleful look. 

“Erm, Abraxas?” Cygnus asked in a small voice. “Can you be a sport and drop your wards so we can Disapparate from this room?” 

Abraxas gave a sigh of vexation, drew his wand and completed the wandwork necessary to acquiesce to Cygnus’ request. “Know this, Cygnus,” he said, “if your wife breathes a word of any of this to anyone, _you_ are out of the Coterie for good. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Archon,” Cygnus said, bowing his head slightly. 

Druella rolled her eyes.

“What of me?” Jade asked.

“What of you?” Abraxas echoed, his affect flat. He didn’t wait for an answer. “I shall leave Orion to deal with you as he sees fit. If he wishes to Obliviate you, it is his affair.”

Druella felt a pang of sympathy for Jade; Abraxas was essentially telling her that she was so far beneath his notice that he didn’t care if she told or not. Still, even Jade must have known that there was little else she could possibly gain from the evening. She nodded to him and slipped out the door, more subdued than Druella had ever seen and yet still glowing. 

“Good night, Abraxas,” Druella said sweetly, drawing her wand.

“Rot in Hades, Druella,” he replied, massaging his closed eyes with one hand. The angry red mark from her hand still showed prominently on his face. Druella did not feel even a glimmer of remorse for that: Abraxas had genuinely deserved it and she would do it again in a second if he dared insult her in such a manner in the future.

“Come along, dear,” Cygnus said, taking Druella by the arm and drawing his own wand. As they had practiced countless times, they Disapparated from Malfoy Manor together. When they Apparated back into Blackwood Hall, Druella went upstairs to the spare bedroom. Francois Selwyn still snoozed there, clad in nothing but his underwear. Druella had already changed into a dressing gown and now she used magic to put Francois’ clothes back on him. 

When she finished, Francois rubbed his eyes. “What happened?” he asked groggily.

Druella sat on the edge of the bed. “You took ill suddenly. We thought it best to let you rest and I believe Cygnus made your excuses to Abraxas.” The pretense for Francois’ having been at their house first was a potential business acquisition over which Francois had the most expertise, something he and Cygnus had discussed prior to the Coterie meeting. 

“Oh,” Francois said. Druella stood as Francois roused himself. “Well, hope I didn’t miss anything important.”

“Oh, I very much doubt your missed anything whatsoever,” Druella said wryly. 

Francois drew on his cloak and smiled at her. “My thanks for taking such good care of my person.”

Druella suppressed her own grin. “My pleasure."

She saw Francois down to the foyer as he tried to neaten his tousled hair. “Goodnight, Mrs. Black,” he said.

“Good night, Francois.”

Francois smiled once more before Disapparating. After he left, it occurred to Druella that she should somehow work into their next conversation that Robena March was well and truly done with him. Druella walked back upstairs, yawning hugely. As she brushed out her hair, she thought more about her conversation with Miss March. Although Druella regretted none of what she said to Robena, she knew that thanks to the purification ritual that Abraxas whole-heartedly believed in, her life was about to get much harder.


	16. Ch. 41: Imperio; Ch. 42: Resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius notices the injuries on Robena's person inflicted by Abraxas, forcing Robena to try and throw him off the scent. Abraxas re-establishes parameters of expected behavior from Robena. Robena resists, precipitating a major escalation from Abraxas. Afterwards, Robena resolves to solve her problems with Abraxas for good. Perceiving an apparent surrender from Robena, Abraxas tells her his side of the story regarding Georgina. Following her ordeal, Robena finds small comfort from an unexpected source.
> 
>  _Abraxas froze, his hand outstretched to the door. “Oh, Miss March, you_ really _shouldn’t have brought that up."_
> 
>  _“Why, because it’s an embarrassing memory?” Robena asked. She chewed her lower lip. “I’m certain that it must be._ I’d _be embarrassed, if it were me.”_ Shut up, Robena, _she told herself,_ there’s being strong and then there’s being stupid. This is that second thing.

FORTY-ONE: IMPERIO

“How was the Blacks’ party?” Robena asked Lucius. They were cleaning out the small conservatory. Robena had intended to do it herself, but Lucius, bored and lonely as he often was, had offered to help. Although it was a simple enough task, Robena felt grateful for the company and could admit that the undertaking would definitely be twice as fast and half as tedious with two people. Now they were pulling all the sheet music off of the shelves and placing it in piles to be sorted, alphabetized, and placed back in a more organized fashion. 

The day was another wet and miserable one, made more so for having interrupted another flying dream for Robena. Although she had experienced flying dreams prior to starting at Malfoy Manor, this specific one hadn’t started until her current employment. Always it followed the same themes: the azure ocean, the warm breeze, the forbidding rocks, and the pervasive yet serene sense of understanding and being a part of all of it. Maddeningly, Robena felt as if she could get her head around the dream if it would just linger a bit longer in her memory, but always her alarm clock would jar her out of it, leaving her yearning for more.

Since Christmas, Robena had wanted to count the days down to spring, but at this point was not sure when it would arrive in truth, rather than just in date. Lucius turned from his shelf with two slim music volumes. “This one is Waltzes and Nocturnes.” He held up his right hand. He then held up his left. “And this one is Etudes and Nocturnes, so how am I to sort these?”

“By opus, of course,” Robena answered absently, leafing through a compilation of something called _Music of the Spheres: Chants to Enhance the Vibrations of the Ephemera._ “Weird,” she said under her breath. She lifted the volume for Lucius to see. 

He squinted at it, his mouth moving subtly as he read the title himself before giving Robena a bewildered look. He shrugged and turned back to his own task. “What’s an opus?” he asked.

Robena smiled. “It’s just a fancy word for a work, usually of music, and in chronological order.”

Lucius put the volumes together so he could flip through one of them. “Well...these have multiple opuses.” He scowled. “Opi?” 

“Good guess, Lucius; _opi_ or _opera_ , if you prefer.” Robena paused, considering his question. “Alphabetically, I guess, and then by title? And you didn’t answer my question.”

“It was all right, I guess.” Lucius put the books where they belonged and then turned back to Robena, suddenly brightening. “I did sit next to a French wizard at dinner, Adrien something. And I talked to him. In French.” He smiled, looking inordinately proud of himself.

“Good for you. Were any of your lady friends from the Solstice party there?” 

“Best not concern yourself with that, Miss March,” Lucius answered with an aloofness that was almost comical. 

Robena suppressed a smile. “Very well, keep your secrets.” 

They worked in silence for a few minutes until Lucius sighed. “It’s so dreary in here, Miss March." He ambled over to the tall windows with their long spring-green velvet drapes partially shut. “I’m opening these,” he said, doing so.

“As you wish,” Robena said as the gloom alleviated.

Lucius came back over to her. “That’s better, I should think. Now I can see my hand in front of my—“ He cut off suddenly, his gray eyes fixed on Robena.

“What?” Robena asked uneasily.

“What happened to your face?”

Robena’s stomach fell. She had covered the bruises Abraxas had left with makeup earlier in the day, but that had been hours ago and she hadn’t had time to touch it up. “What do you mean?”

Lucius narrowed his eyes at her. Robena knew that Abraxas taught him how to read people, but still, he was barely eleven, too young to possibly comprehend the reasons why she might be evasive. “You look as though someone's struck you…there are bruises around your mouth.”

“Oh, that.” Robena attempted to sound relieved as her hand flew up to touch the parts in question. “It was all so very stupid. I was getting a hatbox down from the top of my wardrobe and it slipped and hit me right in the mouth.” 

“A hatbox.” 

“Mm.” Robena looked around for anything to distract from this conversation. 

“Couldn’t you have just gotten it with magic?” Lucius' voice was now peppered with skepticism.

“Of course,” Robena laughed, but it sounded strange and hollow. “That’s why it’s all so silly.” 

“Silly,” Lucius echoed. It could not have been more obvious that he didn’t believe Robena, but she also hoped that he would have the sense not to pry further. 

Just then, the door opened and Abraxas walked in. Robena hadn’t seen him since the night of Lucius’ injury and Abraxas’ drunken nighttime intrusion. She had tried her best to put the incident from her mind, distracting herself with whatever she could, even going into Diagon Alley and wandering about on her off time, scant though that had been. But now here he was, larger than life in well-cut pinstripe robes, clean-shaven and perfectly groomed in every respect. In seeing him, Robena’s brain assaulted her with images and sensations from that night, his weight over top of her, his mouth crushing hers, all of him preventing her from drawing breath. That was the majority of the feeling, one of suffocation and constriction. Even now, Robena’s breath caught in her throat and once more her hand drifted up to her mouth.

Lucius looked at her with concern. “Miss March, are you ill?” he asked, touching her on the arm. She flinched at the contact and Lucius drew it away with mild alarm. 

“She’s fine,” Abraxas said coldly.

“I was asking her, not you,” Lucius replied, matching Abraxas’ tone exactly. 

The shock of Lucius’ insubordination pulled Robena out of her anxiety attack. She looked fearfully from Lucius to Abraxas. Although coming to her defense was bold on Lucius’ part, everyone in the room knew that it would likely result in a beating for him and Merlin-only-knew-what for Robena. It also called into question something that Druella Black had said to her the night of the Solstice party, _the worst part about all of this for you is that Lucius will always choose his father, even if it means his own destruction._ Well, perhaps Mrs. Black was wrong, if only this once. 

As if it was instinctual and as if he could hear Robena’s thoughts on the matter, Lucius dropped his eyes to the carpet. “Sorry, father." His remorse or appearance of it was probably too little, too late, but Robena had to credit Lucius his pragmatism and his admirable play-act of sincerity. Only the resentment and distrust in his eyes belied his apparent contrition. 

Abraxas was quiet for a moment. “I shall overlook your rudeness for the moment, Lucius, as I would speak with Miss March alone. You’re dismissed.”

Lucius looked from Robena to Abraxas and back, that same appraising look in his eyes. _Sweet Merlin, please don’t ever let him find out what’s actually happening,_ Robena prayed fervently, _It shall be the death of me, I’m sure of it, and will do nothing good whatsoever for Lucius._ Lucius finally set the music he was holding aside and left the room, closing the door on Abraxas and Robena.

“I—I’ve told him nothing,” Robena said, twisting her hands together in front of her. _Get a hold of yourself,_ she admonished herself firmly. _Don’t let him break you._

“About what?” Abraxas leaned on the arm of a chaise done in a shade of green complementary to the drapes. 

“Well, about you—and me—and what happened after…” 

“What happened?” Abraxas' face gave nothing away.

“Do you not remember?” 

Abraxas shrugged. “I went to bed.”

 _He must truly not recall,_ Robena thought with some amazement, although he had been so drunk that night, it shouldn’t have surprised her too much. She changed her approach. “And when you went to bed, did you perchance have a dream about your late wife?”

Abraxas stood. His voice carried a note of warning. “That is none of your affair and you will kindly keep her name out of your mouth, Miss March.”

“I didn’t say her name, but you did, several times, when you broke into my room yet again and had your way with me against my will.”

Abraxas looked down at her. “I assure you I did nothing of the kind and even if I did, I’ve made my intentions with you perfectly clear. Ergo, if that did happen, it was no less than what I have told you many times I expect from you.” 

Robena folded her arms over her chest. “Did you know I was explaining, and by explaining, I mean _lying_ to Lucius about how I got these bruises around my mouth?”

Abraxas smirked. “Are you quite certain those aren’t the work of Francois Selwyn? Come to think of it, he was over the other night and I unfortunately had to leave him alone for a time. Did you perchance find him and make him succumb to your wantonness?”

Robena glared at him. “No, I’d swear on my wand it was you.”

Abraxas put up a hand. “None of it matters, anyway. I didn’t come in here to bandy words and accusations around with you. It’s far below my dignity to quibble with a…servant.”

 _A Mudblood servant,_ the missing word hung in the air as if Abraxas had said it out loud. “Then why did you come in here?” Robena asked. 

Abraxas’ look to Robena chilled. “Merely to warn you. That which passed between us in the drawing room the other night was nothing more than a lapse in judgment on my part and some liberties taken on your part, but rest assured both were quite temporary. For the sake of the order of my household, you shall forthwith be a servant of Malfoy Manor, nothing more, and it would behoove you to remember that.”

“A servant who helped save your son’s life."

“As any reasonable person with even a shred of conscience would do."

Robena felt heat creep up her neck as her anger and frustration with Abraxas mounted. “He asked for me because he trusts me. And by all accounts he should have gone to St. Mungo’s. The only reason he didn’t was because you wanted to keep your Dark Arts Fell Circle a secret. So you’re welcome for that.” The one good thing about her rising ire was that it seemed to be driving out her fear.

Abraxas nodded, conceding this small point at least. “For your assistance, I am grateful, but I must insist that from here on out, you keep to your place, which is in strict obedience to my directives, _all_ of my directives.”

“Or else?” Robena couldn’t help but ask. So far Abraxas hadn’t overtly threatened her, but then again, it wasn’t his way, at least not until pressed to it. And the afternoon was young.

To her surprise, Abraxas smiled. “Oh, Miss March,” he said, sitting once again on the edge of the chaise. “It needn’t be like this. Your life here at Malfoy Manor could be far easier, I hope you realize. It’s very simple.” He opened his hand towards her. “Stop fighting me. You’ll not win.” 

_It’s the Malfoys, dear, you don’t get to win._ “Like Georgina?” Robena asked. “I found her, you know. In Manchester. That was the real reason I wanted extra time over the holidays. She stopped fighting you and it didn’t help her in the end. So you’ll forgive me if I have immense difficulty in believing that letting you do as you please with me shall somehow help me in the long run.” Robena wasn’t sure what compelled her to tell Abraxas about that, but it seemed as good a time as any to bring it up.

Abraxas’ smile faded and Robena knew that she had gotten to him. “You forget that I can make life very unpleasant for you during your tenure at Malfoy Manor,” he said, his voice soft. _There it is,_ Robena thought. “I can also blacklist you to the wizarding community so you never work again. Would you like to teach at Hogwarts one day, perhaps?” He tilted his head to the side. “Such a shame that it might never happen whilst I am on the Board of Directors, which, by the way, I am.” He raised an eyebrow. “But it needn’t be that way.”

Robena shook her head. “Georgina told it differently. She stopped fighting you, gave you what you wanted and you rewarded her by forcing her out of the wizarding community on penalty of death.”

“A choice made entirely by her,” Abraxas said smoothly, but Robena noted that he denied none of it. “And you’ve not heard my side of the story.” 

“Oh, I can imagine well enough that whatever it entailed, you were of course blameless. The bottom line is that I will never, ever stop fighting you. I may not win, but I guarantee that I’ll land the occasional curse, and when I do, it’s going to smart quite a bit.” 

“Are you threatening me yet again, Miss March?” Abraxas’ voice was deadly quiet and Robena could see him loosening his wand where he had it stashed in an inner pocket of his robes.

She sighed. The last thing she wanted to do right now was engage in a wand battle with Abraxas. _Well, second-to-last,_ she amended. “No more than you’re threatening me, Mr. Malfoy. Your choice can also be a very simple one: leave me alone. Let me govern Lucius as you hired me to do, and a task at which I think I’m competent at the very least. After my tenure is over, we’ll part ways unharmed. Both of us. _All_ of us.” Robena hated the pleading note in her voice, but honestly, all she wanted to do was her job. None of what she was saying was a lie. She was fond of Lucius and if the job was simply governing him, she would like it fine. Abraxas had been the one to turn it into Hades. 

He stood once more, adjusting his robes. “Miss March, that would be a fine idea, if we were equals. But we’re not and we never will be. I imagine I don’t need to tell you why.” 

“No, because I already know.” Robena smiled coldly.

“Well, that’s a relief, I must say,” Abraxas’ tone lightened as he moved around her towards the door. “I thought you might never come around on this issue. So many of your kind don’t, you know.”

“We’re not equals because no equal of mine would have dropped his guard and let me petrify him to lie on the floor all night,” Robena said haughtily. She knew it was dangerous, but she didn’t care at this point. He had pushed her way too far. 

Abraxas froze, his hand outstretched to the door. “Oh, Miss March, you _really_ shouldn’t have brought that up.” He turned back to her with a look in his eye that matched the one he had while holding a Final Arrow a centimeter from her neck.

“Why, because it’s an embarrassing memory?” Robena asked. She chewed her lower lip. “I’m certain that it must be. _I’d_ be embarrassed, if it were me.” _Shut up, Robena,_ she told herself, _there’s being strong and then there’s being stupid. This is that second thing._

Abraxas moved back towards her slowly. Robena stood her ground, even as he came closer to her and once again, memories assaulted her, of him on her, in her, hands roaming, mouth smothering, body possessing, all inexorably consuming her under a miasma of Firewhiskey. “You really think pushing me in this manner is wise?” Abraxas asked.

“Probably not,” Robena admitted, her breath now coming in gasps and the same constricting feeling descending on her chest like steel bands.

“I couldn’t agree more,” Abraxas whispered, now less than a foot from her. “Remember, you did this to yourself.” Before Robena could react, Abraxas drew his wand on her. “ _Imperio._ ” 

Robena immediately felt a warm sensation, not unlike when Francois used to hold her after they had finished making love, a secure, womb-like feeling of peace and security. However, unlike her post-coital glow with Francois, an undercurrent of ominous dread threaded through it, as well as something deeply wrong that Robena couldn’t place at that moment. 

“Oh, I should have done this a long time ago.” Abraxas' voice fell on Robena’s ears like honey. Like poison. Its intoxicating power flowed and dripped into every recess of her mind, overthrowing every rebellious instinct, paralyzing every thought of betrayal and incapacitating any semblance of resistance. “Because you seem unclear about the concept of strict obedience…” Abraxas tilted his head down to her, close enough that she could feel the brush of his lips on the outer curve of her ear, making all the hair on the back of her neck stand up. “…I shall now enlighten you.” He straightened and when he spoke again, his voice glowed with arrogant triumph. “Now, get on your knees.”

FORTY-TWO: RESOLUTION

It was Robena’s first experience with the Imperius Curse in any capacity and she despised every second of it, at least within the small part of her brain that lay trapped beneath the majority that Abraxas had taken hostage. After it was all over, Robena knew she shouldn’t have been surprised at the facility with which Abraxas had cast the spell, including the fact that he didn’t hesitate to do so. As she gathered her clothes from where she had taken them off herself at Abraxas’ pleasantly-worded request, Robena couldn’t help but wonder if Abraxas would just as casually toss the other two Unforgivables her way. _Not_ if _, but rather_ when, she thought bleakly as she pulled her blouse back on and buttoned it with shaking fingers.

By contrast, Abraxas was downright cheerful. “Surely that can’t have been all _that_ bad, Miss March. You certainly seemed to enjoy yourself. Several times.” 

Robena’s face burned with shame. Yes, Abraxas had ensured her unwilling pleasure through the influence of the Imperius Curse. It was all part of the humiliation, feeding the narrative that Abraxas had created in which Robena wanted any of this or any of _him._ She looked at Abraxas now with purest loathing where he stood, blithely putting his own clothing back on. He caught her glance and did a double take. “If you prefer, I can Imperius Curse you every time,” he said, his voice mild.

“No.” Robena's mouth was bone-dry and so it came out as a whisper. She cleared her throat. “No,” she repeated. 

Abraxas paused, his brows knit together in what looked like genuine confusion. “Why not? It’s sure to be more enjoyable for both of us, and it’s certainly not an imposition on me.” 

Robena look changed to one of horror. “My god,” she whispered. He actually believed that Imperius Cursing her so she would capitulate to his every desire for possession and dominance was the reasonable, even the merciful choice. Her heart sank. Mrs. Black was right; there was no winning to be had with such a man. _Don’t let him break you._ In the current context, the phrase was little more than a platitude and its futility almost made Robena laugh. 

“Are you quite certain, Miss March?” A smirk playing about Abraxas' face as he looked her slowly up and down. “A few moments ago, you would have agreed to anything I would have suggested. Young Master Selwyn was right, you know: you really are a most…responsive witch.” 

_I’m going to kill him,_ Robena thought. The idea wasn’t born out of wrath or any other heated feeling she had about what he had just done to her today, nor what he had done the other night, nor what he had done the first time on the Solstice. It was perfectly clear, cold and conceived with iron-clad resolution. Like Abraxas casting Unforgiveables, it wasn’t a question of _if_ but rather _when_. _And how,_ Robena thought. She looked down at the Oriental carpet and traced a pattern with her bare toe, the notion gestating in her mind. 

This new idea changed everything, including what she would say next and how she would say it. She brought tears to her eyes. It wasn’t difficult after the crippling degradation she had just experienced at Abraxas’ hands. When they spilled down her cheeks she lifted her face up. “Yes, I’m sure,” she whispered, meeting Abraxas’ eyes. She sighed deeply. “You’ve won. I’ll not fight you again. You’ve proven that I’m no match for you.” She blinked, sending fresh tears cascading down her face.

Tenderly, Abraxas brushed his thumb down her cheek. Robena suppressed a shudder. “It really is better this way.” His voice had filled with uncharacteristic sympathy. _Then again, at this point he can afford to be magnanimous,_ Robena thought sourly. Abraxas continued. “Fighting me would have been entirely pointless and would have only resulted in more pain and suffering for you. You don’t want that, do you?”

Robena shook her head. “Your power is…insurmountable,” she said. Abraxas inclined his head graciously at this. _People really will believe anything as long as it’s complimentary,_ Robena thought. It was a principle worthy of a Slytherin, but it dawned on Robena that if she was going to do this, she would need to start thinking like one of them.

“I’m gratified that we have found a point upon which we can agree.” Abraxas dropped his hand. “Now,” he said, all business, “after the unfortunate petrification incident, you’ll forgive me if I don’t entirely trust you. So, I’m going to insist that when I have… _need_ of you, you give up your wand.” He held up a hand. “Temporarily, of course. I’m a reasonable wizard, after all. ”

Robena swore internally. That would make things more difficult. Still, she nodded, knowing that she needed him to believe totally in her capitulation. She’d simply have to figure something out. “Very well.”

“Very well, what?”

“Very well, sir,” Robena said automatically. 

“That’s better. Do you see how easy this can be?” 

Robena nodded. The absolute certainty that he would die at her hand made all of this lying and playacting far easier. She even managed a small smile, which Abraxas returned. “And you needn’t worry about unwanted pregnancy,” he added, buttoning his waistcoat. 

“Really?”

“Of course not,” Abraxas scoffed. “My parents did as any pureblooded family ought: they included me in a ritual that would ensure that I could never taint the Malfoy line with impurity by bringing a halfblood child into the world.” He said the word _halfblood_ like a curse. Robena realized that she must be giving him another look of shock, one which of course he misinterpreted, because he said, “Fret not, Miss March, Lucius shall undertake the same ritual when he comes of age.”

 _Georgina was spot on,_ Robena thought. The idea of a ritual to ensure pureblooded sterility except with other purebloods was vile, but not a huge surprise. Besides, as far as Robena was concerned, this circumstance was a bit of a relief: she was as equally disgusted with the idea of carrying Abraxas’ child as he was. That was the true point about which they could both agree. Still, she had no interest in finding out what such a ritual would entail: Dark Arts without a doubt. _Speaking of Georgina,_ she thought. “Sir, if I may…”

“If you may, what?”

“Would you be so kind as to tell me your side of the story regarding Miss Bailey?” 

“Oh, now you want to know?” Abraxas raised an eyebrow.

Robena looked at him in a way she hoped was ingratiating. 

Abraxas paused for a heartbeat more, as if weighing the decision. “Very well,” he finally said, shrugging into his pinstripe robe. “Miss Bailey foolishly tried to kill me.”

Robena felt her eyebrows shoot up. “My word.” Her surprise was unfeigned this time. Georgina had not breathed even a hint of this to Robena, so it might not be true or else it was something Georgina was keeping sensibly quiet, even if she could count Robena as an ally. “How?” Robena finally asked. 

“Tincture of oleander.” Abraxas inspected himself in one of the room’s gilt-framed mirrors and smoothed his hair with both hands. 

_That would have done it,_ Robena thought. “What happened?” She sat down on the sofa and put her chin in her hand, gazing up at Abraxas with rapt attention. 

He looked back at her and smiled indulgently. Robena knew that she had picked the ideal time to ask him, when he was full of smug good humor in the full face of the evidence she was presenting him that he had successfully broken her. “Well,” he said, walking back over to the chair opposite Robena and sitting down. “Her crucial slip-up occurred when she obtained the poison from Borgin and Burke’s.” He shook his head. “She really should have known better. There was no way that Chet Borgin was going to keep to himself that Lucius’ governess had bought poison from his establishment. Now, Mr. Borgin may not be the brightest Lumos ever cast, but he has always understood who keeps the butter on his Cauldron Cakes, if you know what I mean.”

Robena nodded once more. 

“Anyway, Mr. Borgin sent a dispatch owl straight away, so I knew about the purchase before Miss Bailey even Apparated back to Malfoy Manor that day. Mind you, I could have forced her to turn out her pockets or otherwise shaken her down when she returned to my estate, but no, I wanted to catch her in the act.”

“What made you think she wanted to use it against you?” Robena tried her hardest to keep the sarcasm out of her voice for once.

Abraxas smiled slightly. “Suffice to say, she was even less compliant than you, even after I started Obliviating her.” He turned serious once more. “In any event, I ordered each of my house elves to dog her steps and report her every move to me.” He leaned back and rested his fingers on the side of his head. “It didn’t take long. The following day, one of the house elves reported to me that Miss Bailey had slipped the tincture of oleander into my Firewhiskey decanter in the small drawing room. That evening, I baited and subsequently sprang my trap.

“I brought her and Lucius both to the small drawing room on some pretense or other and sat them down for a chat. I poured my drink as usual, keeping Miss Bailey’s reaction in the corner of my eye. Of course she was watching me keenly. Earlier, I had told Lucius that we were going to play a grand joke on Miss Bailey and that I needed his help. As I was about to drink, Lucius looked at me, all wide-eyed innocence and said, ‘Father, does that actually taste good?’” Abraxas smirked at the memory. “Actually, he played his role to the hilt. I said, ‘well, most adults would say that it does, and most children would say that it does not.’ I then lifted the tumbler to my lips once more before appearing to change my mind. ‘But then,’ I said, ‘you’re not most children, are you?’ Lucius shook his head most earnestly, his face full of hope and pride. ‘Would you like to try a sip, just this once?’ I asked. Lucius nodded. ‘Please, father.’ I smiled at him and handed over the tumbler. 

“Lucius took it and, just as he was about to take a sip, as I had predicted, Miss Bailey cried out, ‘But you musn’t!’ I remember looking at her coldly. ‘I’ll thank you not to interfere in the manner in which I raise my son.’ She looked at me with defiance. ‘Alcohol isn’t for children, sir,’ she said. I paused for a moment, as if seriously considering her words. ‘Miss Bailey,’ I said, ‘You’re absolutely right. You have always looked out for my son’s best interests and for that I thank you. As a matter of fact…’ at this I paused, looking from the poisoned drink to her. ‘Why don’t you have this one, as you are most assuredly an adult.’” The lecherous lilt was back in Abraxas’ voice at this. 

He continued. “ ‘Oh, thank you, sir, but no,’ she said, trying to smile even through her obviously rising panic. By then I knew that I had her. ‘I insist,’ I said, holding it out to her. Again, she refused. ‘Drink it,’ I finally ordered her, in a voice that I knew would brook no argument from her, if history was any gauge. With trembling hands, she took the tumbler from me. ‘Well, if I’m to drink this, then I say we have a toast,’ she tried. She moved back to where the decanter was and picked it up. But wouldn’t you know it, her foot caught the edge of the carpet and she dropped both decanter and tumbler, shattering both onto the floor and spilling all the incriminating evidence.” Abraxas shrugged grandly. “She resigned the following day.”

Robena had listened to every word; if nothing else, it was a lesson for her in what not to do. It was also an indication of just how high Abraxas was willing to drive the stakes, even risking Lucius to take down an enemy. However, something still didn’t quite add up. “I’m surprised that she didn’t end up face down in the woods behind Malfoy Manor with a Final Arrow protruding from her back.” For the time being, the wonder in Robena's voice was sincere. 

Something shifted in Abraxas’ eyes like a wraith moving through trees and Robena knew that he would have liked nothing better than that outcome. Georgina must have had something on him; there was simply no other explanation. Robena pursed her lips in vexation; she would have given all the gold in Gringotts to know what it was.

Abraxas recovered quickly. “Yes, well...” He gestured in a bored fashion, “I’m not a monster.” At this, Robena bit her tongue. “And I could prove nothing. I believe that the guilt of what might have happened to Lucius got to her in the end plus the realization that had she succeeded in poisoning me, she would have left him without a parent in the world to care for him.”

 _Damn it,_ Robena thought. In her single-minded determination, she too had overlooked what Abraxas’ sudden death would do to Lucius. Even a parent at the very bottom of the moral cauldron such as Abraxas was better than no parent at all at Lucius’ still-tender age. _And he unequivocally saved Lucius’ life in the Fell Circle,_ her own conscience reminded her. _Yes, from an ancient spirit creature that Abraxas or one of his ancestors illegally and immorally imprisoned in the first place,_ the more pragmatic internal voice chimed in. Moreover, Lucius wouldn’t need Abraxas forever and there might even come a point in Lucius’ life when he would realize that the world would be a far better place, even for him, without Abraxas in it.

Abraxas stood. “So, that’s my side of the story, in which I think you’ll agree, Miss Bailey is not entirely blameless.”

“No, I suppose not.” Robena stood as well.

They were both quiet for a moment. “That will be all, Miss March,” Abraxas finally said in dismissal. 

Robena nodded at him once before she turned and left. Outside the conservatory, after she had walked down the hall, Robena paused and leaned against the wall, taking just a minute to gather herself. She massaged her head with one hand, a headache building in her right temple. She needed advice and help. Despite what he said, Abraxas was indeed a monster and as such, he surely had to have other enemies besides her. _But not Georgina; at least, not any more,_ Robena thought. Georgina was well and truly out and even if she hadn’t told Robena to leave her alone, with her progressing pregnancy, the last thing she needed was for Robena to suck her back into this grindylow-infested swamp that she had so recently escaped.

Robena eventually unglued herself from the wall and wandered into the nearest room, which was the large upstairs drawing room with the closet and its convenient vent. Robena drifted over to the window and looked out over the misty grounds towards the forest beyond the formal gardens. Her only option at this point seemed to be seeking an alliance with the siren, a dangerous proposition to be sure. Robena sat on the window's bench, drew her legs up, draped her skirt over top of them, and rested her elbows lightly on her knees. Leaning her head against the cold diamonds of the windowpane, she closed her eyes.

Immediately, her mind drifted back to the wretched night of Lucius’ injury. He had looked so young, innocent, and vulnerable, his pale flesh cleaved by that awful incision with its dark and unrelenting flow of blood. The siren had done that. _The captive, often-raped siren,_ her brain reminded her. _But Lucius was, and is, an innocent party,_ she argued with herself. _Perhaps now, but for how long?_

Robena sighed as a great sense of sorrow and despair grew within her breast. She felt the familiar prickle in her eyes but resolutely blinked it away. She had cried enough today and besides, Abraxas had taken her last tears for himself, just as he had taken so much else from her. Instead, Robena simply placed her head on her knee, waiting for the feeling to pass. After a few heartbeats she felt a presence near her. Robena lifted her head and looked out into the room. Even though she could see nothing, she could not shake the feeling that something watched her.

A brief shimmer distorted the air and then the demiguise materialized in front of her. Robena froze, her heart hammering. The way that the demiguise had its paws folded together and its head tilted to the side gave it an endearing and quizzical demeanor. Almost in a trance, Robena slowly dropped her hand to her side, opening her palm towards the demiguise. The two almost-perfect circles of its eyes turned from their golden-brown color to the blue of its precognitive vision before changing back. Seemingly resolved that she was not a threat, it loped over to her. Robena held her breath as it approached, its silvery fur shimmering with its graceful movements.

Defying anything Robena could have possibly expected, it used her hand to hop into her lap. Robena felt a smile break through the dark storm of despairing misery threatening to consume her. The demiguise was a friendly, warm weight on her lap, and she could feel it breathing rapidly next to her. She lifted her hand and gently stroked the remarkable fur, so coveted by the greedy and ambitious, these men who refused to live in a world that ever told them no. _Including Lucius,_ she thought as hopelessness crept back into her heart. _You won’t save him, not in the end._

Robena set her mouth grimly. But it wasn’t the end, not yet. She continued to stroke the demiguise. The silky fur glistened and shifted under her hands, but where it would usually unnerve her due to its resemblance to Abraxas’ hunting gear, now it just seemed wondrous and even beautiful. The creature made a sound of contentment, almost like a purr, its eyelids growing heavy and stuporous. Robena let the sound soothe her. She allowed the world to slip away just for a short time and enjoy this singular moment of relief and wonder, knowing that it couldn’t possibly last and was even more precious for this reason.

Like any other moment of simple joy, it lasted for a far shorter period of time than Robena would have liked. After a few minutes of Robena’s attention, the demiguise suddenly stiffened and lifted its head, its eyes wide open and bright blue. Robena paused and listened too. She could hear faint footfalls coming down the marble hall towards them. The demiguise vanished and Robena felt the weight lift from her lap is it hopped off and away, leaving her feeling cold and bereft without it. A minute later, Lucius appeared, passing by the door. He broke his stride when he saw that Robena was in the room.

He turned, came through the door, and walked up to her. “Are you feeling better, Miss March?” he asked with a note of concern.

“Yes, much,” Robena said brightly, swinging her legs down from the bench seat and standing. 

Lucius smiled. “Well, that’s good, because I forgot to tell you the best part of what happened at the party. I met someone there who said he could introduce me to Appollo Lovegood.” He looked past her and out the window, his smile turning to one of triumph so close to his father’s that Robena shivered. “That demiguise is as good as mine." He looked back at Robena. “Isn’t that great news?”

Robena let her eyes drift in the direction the demiguise had gone, feeling both a pang of loss at its departure and a pall of foreboding about its future, to say nothing of her own. She turned her attention back to Lucius, who looked at her with such radiant expectation that she forced a smile and gave him the only response she could: “Simply the best, Lucius.”

END PART II


	17. Ch. 43: The Venus Line; Ch. 44: An Outing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spring finally arrives at Malfoy Manor. While walking through the woods on his way to show Robena a pleasing discovery, Lucius reflects on his and his father's investigation of the Venus Line. Lucius also recalls a new acquaintance made at the Blacks' party, one who can lead Lucius to Apollo Lovegood and thus the demiguise. In the woods, Lucius makes new discoveries about the Venus Line using Robena's help in a practical way. Against Robena's better judgment, she and Lucius make a trip to Knockturn Alley, where they unexpectedly meet an astonishing character.
> 
> _Robena folded her arms. “I’ll not go until you wipe that smirk from your face.”_
> 
> _Lucius nodded graciously. “Then, as I said, you may stay here and I can take my person and my smirk both to Knockturn Alley without your assistance. Now, if you_ do _care to join me, we don’t have all day.” Before Robena could protest, Lucius turned on his heel and strode off down the cobblestones._

PART III

FORTY-THREE: THE VENUS LINE 

Time passed and February’s gloom gave way to March’s unrelenting rain, but with the rain came the first tender shoots of snow drops. The gardens of Malfoy Manor still slumbered and so one could only find the wealth of these early harbingers of spring by venturing further afield. Lucius spent a lot more time out of doors as the weather finally started to improve, scouting for where the white flowers had naturalized in the leaf litter. If he found a particularly good patch, he would take Robena out and show it to her, as this inaugural sign of winter’s grip loosening seemed to cheer her.

Lucius walked through the forest now, Robena several yards behind him. He had just found a gargantuan swath that he wanted to show Robena, the grandest one yet. However, even this remarkable discovery could not dissuade Lucius from the fact that he had noticed a troubling change in Miss March. She grew more withdrawn, quiet, and sad with each passing day. There was also something suspect between her and Abraxas, something that Lucius simply could not put his finger on and it was driving him mad, to say nothing of the persistent feeling of déjà vu the entire situation gave him. 

Abraxas was teaching him the ways of human behavior and Lucius liked to think himself a quick study, such as noticing the particular regard Cygnus Black had for the young French wizard Adrien at the party, as an example. But Lucius could not place what the trouble was between Robena and Abraxas. Lucius knew that his father held Robena in contempt for her blood status, but surmised that he surely must consider her a valuable asset to the house. After all, Abraxas had kept her on so far and must have noticed how much she had taught Lucius since starting. Moreover, she had helped both of them tremendously on the night of the siren’s assault.

On that night, no one could deny that Robena had come through for their family, but despite this, the cool civility between Robena and Abraxas had turned into something else, some darker aspect just out of Lucius’ reach. In the parkland, he moved through the trees running abreast of the Fell Circle while keeping it far enough away to be out of sight. In fact, he and Robena had reached the far side of the Fell Circle, down a small ravine in which a brook ran, engorged with the recent rainfall. Lucius paused there, waiting for Robena to catch up with him. For once it was a lovely day with sunlight streaming through the still-bare branches and sparkling on the water.

Lucius plunged his hand down into the flow, clenching his jaw at the numbing frigidity that radiated all the way up to his elbow. Despite the intensity of the cold, he kept his hand in the water for a moment. The brook ran concurrently with the smaller and weaker ley line and as far as the brook was concerned, if Lucius followed it to its conclusion, he knew it ended in a small pool. He closed his eyes, reaching out with his mind below the stream and tapping his consciousness into the ley line itself. This skill was getting easier. What Lucius found was that the line remained as it usually was: small and warm, pulsing faintly, the weaker cousin of the powerful and assertive Mars Line on the other side of the property.

Unable to stand the extreme temperature any longer, Lucius drew his hand out of the cascading water and shook droplets onto the already-damp ground. He put his hand up to his neck, feeling his own warm life force pulsing beneath, driving the chill from his fingers. He shivered at the contrast the skin contact made. Besides feeling the shock of the cold, Lucius pressed on the very spot that he had opened with his pocket-knife and almost drained of that same life force some weeks before. Even though Abraxas’ healing had not left a physical scar, a spiritual one remained, a reminder that something both harrowing and magical had occurred there. 

Once his hand had warmed, Lucius dropped it, his neck still pulsing as if trying to push the residual cold away. It reminded him not only of the day that he had almost ended his own life, but of what had happened later regarding the ley line that ran beneath the Fell Circle. A few days after the Blacks’ party, Lucius’ father had taken a turn about the grounds and requested for Lucius to join him. 

Always grateful for a diversion that got him outside, Lucius acquiesced, even though it wasn’t actually a request, but a barely-veiled order. Still, Lucius was glad to go. He put on his boots and followed Abraxas out into the snow-covered wilderness. They followed the same path that Lucius was now on, bypassing the Fell Circle, but still on that side of the property, along the ley line that was not the Mars line. When they had crossed the then-frozen stream, Abraxas ordered Lucius to perceive the ley line.

Lucius took a knee, placed his palm flat in the snow, closed his eyes, and reached out his psyche deep below the ground. What he found shocked him so much that he pulled his hand away, breaking his concentration. “What is it?” Abraxas had asked.

“The line, it’s…” Lucius stood. “It’s stronger than the Mars Line. It wasn’t before. I mean--” He cut off, not wanting to bring up the first time he had perceived its presence as it had been the day he had awoken the siren and almost died.

Abraxas frowned and did the same as Lucius had done, crouching down and placing his palm just above the snow. He closed his eyes, his brows drawn down in concentration. Abraxas remained still for quite a while and Lucius found himself shifting his weight from foot to foot as subtly as he could in an attempt to circulate his blood and stay warm. However, he was careful not to move in any way that would break his father’s concentration and invoke the wrath that always seemed to simmer below the surface.

Finally, Abraxas withdrew his hand, opened his eyes and stood. “You’re correct, Lucius, it’s quite strong.” Where Lucius had thought this observation might please Abraxas, he continued to look troubled, his brows knit. “Did you check the ley line the day that you came to the Fell Circle?” 

Lucius nodded. He was uncertain if this admission would get him into trouble and was thus grateful that his father had been the one to bring it up so Lucius didn’t have to.

Abraxas returned his nod. “It’s as well that you did. Checking the ley lines shall be your task when Malfoy Manor is yours, so you may as well engender the habit now. In actuality, you should make it second nature when you walk about the grounds.” Without another word on the matter, Abraxas turned on his heel and strode back in the direction of the house.

“Why is it so strong now, father? It wasn’t nearly so when I was at the Fell Circle last…”

“It’s the Venus Line.” Abraxas moved through the trees with his usual efficiency. 

Lucius frowned in the realization that Abraxas had not even answered his question. Still, it was a small comfort that at least he could at last put a name to it. “What makes it—the Venus Line--strong or weak?” 

“Female energy or _anima_.”

“Why now?” 

Without breaking his stride, Abraxas shrugged. “I really couldn’t say.” His face still carried the same scowl, so Lucius was fairly confident that Abraxas was lying at worst, omitting at best, and wouldn’t elaborate in any case, so Lucius gave it up.

Now, several weeks later, even though the season advanced and life returned to the parkland, the Venus Line had returned to its weaker state. That day with his father, Lucius had almost asked if Robena’s presence in their life had strengthened the Venus Line. He had also almost asked if the Venus Line had been stronger whilst his mother lived. In the end he kept his mouth shut on both counts. Either of these questions could certainly anger his father and Robena’s presence did not explain why the Venus Line had been weak and then suddenly strong, but now weak again. 

Back in the spring forest, Robena had caught up with Lucius. Her cheeks were pink from the exertion and she was breathing hard. “Being inside has definitely taken a toll on my stamina.” She massaged a cramp out of her side as she caught her breath. 

“Yes, strange how days filled with naught but French, wizarding etiquette and piano practice don’t build that up.”

“The mind needs to be strengthened as well,” Robena countered primly, while rubbing her flank with both hands. 

“Indeed, Miss March.” Lucius had gotten quite good at all three throughout the winter, thanks to Robena’s unrelenting enforcement. Of his own volition, Lucius had memorized the seating at the Black party and as soon as he had returned from Blackwood Hall that night, had copied it onto a piece of parchment prior to going to bed so he wouldn’t forget it. The following morning, even before his lessons, he had studied it, drawn his own conclusions, and shared them with Robena. 

What Lucius found out was that, unsurprisingly, Druella Black had not violated a single precept of etiquette save one: she had placed the unknown, mixed-blooded but charming Adrien de la Croix closer to the foot of the table than Lucius. Pureblood or not, Lucius could admit that as an underage wizard he should have been at the very end. Nonetheless, she must have had her reasons. Lucius had known Druella Black his entire life and careless was the last word he would ever use to describe her. 

In any event, it hadn’t mattered; it was merely an exercise and besides, Lucius had already told Robena the best thing about the party, and it wasn’t the seating chart. Lucius had done an admirable job mingling with everyone, not just the other children, but with some of the adults as well. In so doing, he had crossed paths with Hector Giovane, the companion of Lena Marx-Ulysses. Lucius introduced himself to Hector upon seeing him by himself, his paramour having excused herself to speak to Francois Selwyn. Lucius came upon Hector at the side table, where he was pouring himself a drink. In his time around parties, Lucius knew that grown-ups drank alcohol when they felt uncomfortable, which seemed to occur often at parties, so it appeared to be as good a time as any make an introduction.

“Good to meet you, Lucius.” Hector shook his hand with a somewhat nervous energy. He quickly took a drink and did a double take at Lucius. “Your name means _light,_ you know." 

“Indeed? How fascinating. Are you interested in names?”

“Why yes, of course I am." Lucius noted with some amusement that everything Hector said seemed to be a surprise to him. His green eyes, framed with long sandy lashes, would widen dramatically and his sentences would come out as sharp bursts. “Names have great power, you see.” Hector dropped his voice and tilted his head in to Lucius as if sharing a secret.

 _Some more than others,_ Lucius added to himself with a small smirk. Out loud, he asked, “What does your name mean?” Of course he already knew, but if Abraxas had taught him anything about social psychology whatsoever, it was that people liked nothing better than to talk about themselves. Abraxas had said that half of gathering information about people was simply being quiet and letting them do the talking. _Listening makes people trust you, Lucius,_ Abraxas had said. 

Hector smiled and rolled his eyes. “Hector was a great warrior, a hero of antiquity, if you can believe that.”

 _That Hector was a warrior, yes; that you were named for such a hero, not so much,_ Lucius thought. He let his eyes light up. “The one killed outside the walls of Troy by Achilles, right?”

Hector’s smile slipped with disappointment. “So you _do_ know the story.”

“Well, yes, but not what the name actually means,” Lucius amended, giving Hector an encouraging lift of his eyebrows.

Hector puffed up, his smile back. “It means to hold back or keep in check.” With that, he drained the rest of his drink with one swallow and immediately started coughing. 

“And do you find that definition to be fitting, I mean, for you?” Lucius asked sardonically as Hector wheezed and finally caught his breath, his face red and his eyes tearing.

Hector wiped his eyes and sniffed. “It’s a Greek-derived name,” he said finally, some of the tailwind having left his broomstick with his foible. “The wizarding world is full of them in case you haven’t noticed. Like Iris Bellamy, _Daily Prophet_ Galleon Trading correspondent, Minerva McGonagall, Professor of Transfiguration at Hogwarts, or well, my very own sweet Lena. Marx-Ulysses, _Ulysses,_ Lucius, the great Ithacan voyager of ancient myth. So, you see?” 

Lucius didn’t have the heart to tell him that Ulysses was a Latin name and not a Greek one. Off the cuff, Lucius threw out, “or Apollo Lovegood?”

Hector brightened. “Why, yes, such an interesting fellow, a long-time family friend! Do you know him?”

Lucius shook his head, attempting to be perfectly calm and in control, all while his heart flipped over with his sudden good fortune. “No, I confess I have not had the pleasure of meeting him.”

Hector gave Lucius a considering look. “You might find him quite…intriguing. A learned man, to be sure, and curious about absolutely everything. Also, he has a son who is right around your age: Xenophilius is the boy’s name.”

“Might I trouble you to introduce us sometime?” Lucius asked, as if the thought had just occurred to him.

“I’d be delighted, young Lucius.” Hector put his hand out once more. “Send me an owl and I shall arrange it.”

Lucius shook his hand once more. “Thank you.”

Hector beamed one more time before dropping Lucius’ hand and setting off to find his special lady friend. 

Several days later, Lucius had sent the owl. He received an automated form letter stating that Mr. Giovane would be in Tuscany until the spring Equinox less one week, at which point, _anyone wishing to initiate, renew, or maintain correspondence could do so._ Even in thinking about it now, Lucius sighed in vexation. Still, his father had counseled patience in the matter of the demiguise and this inconvenience wasn’t a dead end, merely a delay. Lucius could master his eagerness and bide his time, as it was part of the lesson. In the interim, he continued to watch for the demiguise. He caught glimpses of it but every time the beast had perceived Lucius it had vanished, much to Lucius’ continued annoyance. 

“What did you want to show me, Lucius?” Robena’s voice cut through Lucius’ daydreaming. 

He smiled at her. “Have you caught your breath?”

“Yes,” she snapped. “There was a time in the not-so-distant past that I could beat you up the Owlery steps, I’ll have you know.”

“Was a time, Miss March. _Was._ ” 

“Oh for the love of—just show me, you exasperating child!”

Lucius smiled wickedly. He missed _this_ Robena, the one who could go wand-to-wand with him verbally and rise to his proferred bait, not the pale shadow of herself she had become of late. “Patience, Miss March. We shall only venture forth when you feel you are able.” He looked at her for confirmation, and she gestured impatiently for him to show the way. Lucius turned and veritably skipped out of the ravine, only pausing at the top to wait for her once more, but finding that she was only two paces behind him. When Robena crested the hill, she drew her breath in sharply.

In a wide band stretching as far as the eye could see until the trees closed in and the ground once again fell away, grew thousands, _tens_ of thousands of snowdrops. Their graceful forms made a luxuriant carpet, their pure white and green thrown into even brighter contrast due to the fact that the trees still remained brown and bare. Lucius grinned at Robena’s rapt expression. He hadn’t seen her experience such joy in an achingly long time and it was only its rarity that soured his own happiness. “It’s…beautiful,” she breathed.

“I thought you might like it."

“Well, you certainly know how to charm a girl.” Robena cocked her head to the side. “Your future wife is going to be in big trouble around you; I can already see it.”

This triggered something in Lucius’ mind and he felt the smile completely leave his face.

“What is it?” Robena's own expression sobered.

“Come with me, if you please, Miss March."

“All right…” Robena's tone had turned wary. After the demiguise, the overheard conversation, the Fell Circle of course, and all the other times Lucius had led her into uncertainty and danger, he supposed he couldn’t blame her her reticence.

Despite all of this, Robena followed him as Lucius led her back in the direction of the river until they once again stood directly over the ley line. Lucius had a theory about the Venus line, something his father had hinted at, but not specifically said in conjunction with what Lucius knew about Venus from myths. Lucius stopped just over where he knew the ley line was. He and Robena still stood mere paces from the magnificent carpet of white flowers, which Robena still beheld with wonder. “I showed these to you because I knew they would please you,” Lucius said, “for no other reason than to make you happy.” 

Robena smiled at him, but something dark and dreadful moved in her eyes. She moved to say something, but Lucius held up a hand. “Please don’t say anything, Robena. Just do me a favor and think about what I just said and look at the snowdrops.” 

Robena’s eyebrows knit, but she shrugged and continued to look at the flowers, an expression of heartache and tenderness on her face. Lucius knelt down and put both hands on the ground, reaching his mind down once more into the earth and the great line of dormant female power that lay down there. As he expected, it had brightened in intensity, pulsing now with golden light. It wasn’t as strong as the Mars line but still greatly increased in potency even since he had checked it at the river earlier that day. Now that his father wasn’t standing over him, ever judging him, Lucius could actually feel the force of the Venus line traveling up and into him, a nurturing, warming, and yet fiercely protective force. 

Lucius felt the power raise all the hair on his arms, sending him into a full body shiver, but not one of coldness, simply of the presence of something far greater than himself. Without breaking his connection with the ley line or even opening his eyes, he reached out a hand to Robena. “Take my hand, Robena.” After a heartbeat, Lucius felt the warm pressure of her fingers in his. With her contact, Lucius redoubled his efforts, channeling her own energy into the ley line, drawing down her magical power like the slain deer had done to the Mars line. 

Robena cried out and Lucius immediately broke his connection with the ley line. “Are you hurt?” he asked in sudden alarm at what he had done. Abraxas had warned him in the past about meddling with powers beyond his control and now he had done just that and hurt her. Again.

“No,” Robena answered, her voice breathless. “Look…”

Lucius stood and gazed in the direction that Robena had indicated. When he saw what had startled her, he felt his own breath catch in his throat. Next to every snowdrop now sprouted either a yellow or purple crocus, doubling the flowers that had been there an instant ago. 

“Lucius, you did that,” Robena exclaimed. A beatific smile brightened her face.

“No, I didn’t,” Lucius said slowly. “ _You_ did.”

FORTY-FOUR: AN OUTING

“Father, might I go to Diagon Alley with Miss March?” A few weeks had passed and Abraxas sat across from Lucius on the sun porch, finishing the breakfast they had shared and reading the _Daily Prophet._ Abraxas was frowning at the headline, which read: _First Muggle-born Minister for Magic Nobby Leach Inducted into the Order of Merlin._ Lucius bit his lip. That news would certainly put his father in a bad mood, but there was nothing for it. 

Lucius was determined to ask regardless because he had finally heard back from Hector Giovane, who had sent him an owl stating that he would be going to Diagon Alley that day. Even better, Apollo Lovegood would be in Flourish and Blott’s signing copies of his book, _Circle Geomancy: A Treatise on Nature’s Perfect Shape._. Although the topic sounded like complete nonsense to Lucius, he could ill afford to pass up the opportunity and come to think of it, the subject was a faint echo of the demiguise’s chapter in _Fauna Esoterica_. It was definitely worth investigating in any event.

He still needed Abraxas’ permission to set so much as a toenail outside of Malfoy Manor. For his part, Abraxas folded the paper down and set it next to his place, his movements brisk and decisive, but of course in perfect control despite his obvious dissatisfaction with its contents. “For what purpose, may I ask?” 

“Oh, to get out of the house, father,” Lucius sighed, leaning back in his chair and putting his hands behind his head. “I could use a change of scenery—we both could—and with the weather finally becoming milder, we should go on more outings.”

Abraxas raised an eyebrow. “Should you now?”

“Absolutely, father. Do you need anything whilst I am there?” He smiled in a look-what-a-helpful-boy-I-am way. This was another trick Abraxas had taught him, take any answer as that which one wanted to hear, whether one heard it or not, and react accordingly. _Use this quite judiciously, however,_ Abraxas had warned him, _Applied incorrectly or too frequently, it can make you either seem rude or just plain mad._

Abraxas turned back to his paper, already bored with the conversation. “Have Dobby draw you up a list, I suppose…” He looked up once more. “Oh, and buy yourself a new broomstick. Last year’s is likely some ten centimeters too short for you by now…” 

_It worked…and a new broomstick, besides!_ Lucius thought with glee. “I will. Thank you, father.”

“Mm,” was all his father said, not giving Lucius another look.

Lucius excused himself and raced to the library. Robena was already there, setting out books and parchment scrolls for their daily lessons. “Miss March, you can put all of that away.” Lucius' words came out in a rush. “We are going to Diagon Alley today.”

Robena frowned and rubbed her forehead with her fingers. “Thanks to our frequent forays into the parkland, we’re already behind by several days, Lucius. I don’t see how we can justify a day trip today. I’m sorry.”

Lucius felt his shoulders slump before he returned Robena’s frown and squared them once more. “Miss March, I simply will not take _no_ for an answer. I’ll not be gainsaid, not today.” He said this firmly, without whining or belligerence. 

That same dark shadow now lurked behind Robena’s eyes. It passed quickly, replaced by a look of wry amusement. “You’re not master of this house.” She dropped her voice, the corner of her mouth quirking up. “Not today.” 

“Oh, come _on,_ ” Lucius exclaimed, his impatience finally getting the better of him. “The books, the parchment, the lessons…” he looked at where Robena had neatly stacked everything on the polished wood table. “They’ve plagued me all winter.”

Robena huffed and put her hand on her hip.

Lucius opened a hand towards her. “And you can’t tell me that they’ve not plagued you as well.” He reached out and took both of her hands in his. “Miss March,” he said, putting on his most charming smile. “Sweet, kind, clever Miss March…”

Robena rolled her eyes, but even her annoyance with him couldn’t keep a smile from creeping onto her face.

Lucius dropped his voice and dragged out his words. “Surely you would not be so cruel as to deny me this one tiny request on such a magnificent day. Maths, French, etiquette…my curriculum shall keep its place, ready to be picked back up tomorrow. Besides, what’s one day in the grand scheme of things?”

Robena sighed again, looking from Lucius to the books and then back to him. “Very well. I suppose an excursion into town would do us some benefit.” 

“Indeed it would. Good of you to think of it.” He dropped her hands. Another Abraxas Malfoy special: make one's quarry think one's idea was theirs.

“All right, bring it down a broom twig. I’m saying _yes._ You can stop trying to manipulate me.”

Lucius rewarded her with a reproachful look. “I would never dream of it, Miss March.” 

At Lucius’ urging, Robena finally left the lesson materials where she had left them. Lucius didn’t want to waste any time and as he said, they could simply pick up in the same place tomorrow. He then requisitioned a list from Dobby of the few things that the household needed. Lucius knew that at any point, any one of the house elves could get the necessary items, but at the same time, he knew that Abraxas kept his fingers on the pulse of Malfoy Manor himself by knowing what it needed in order to function. Like checking the ley lines, the practicalities of managing the estate would also be Lucius’ responsibility one day.

Robena obtained a quantity of Floo Powder from Dobby as well. Lucius looked at it and then at Robena. “Couldn’t we Apparate?”

Robena’s lip curled slightly. “Your father would not wish me to do it.”

“Come now, you don’t know that.”

“I can assure you that I do.” Robena's voice was cool. “He specifically said that if I Side-Alonged you and subsequently Splinched you that I would ‘die screaming.’ Those are his words, mind you; I am not paraphrasing.”

“Well, that _does_ sound like him…” 

“Shall we?” Robena asked. They were standing in the dining room, which had the largest fireplace, one that Abraxas had dropped the wards on temporarily so they could leave. Robena took a handful of Floo Powder in her right hand and held it up. “Or would you rather stand here and argue with yourself?”

“Don’t get yourself in a snit, Miss March.” Lucius took some Floo Powder from her and stepped into the stone fireplace. He held up the powder. “Diagon Alley,” he said, dropping it straight down into the ashes. The cold green flames consumed him and moments later he stepped out of the communal Floo station across from Gringotts. Robena joined him presently. 

“What shall we do first?” Robena asked, brushing her hands off on her skirt. 

Lucius would have liked nothing better than to run as fast as possible to Quality Quidditch Supplies for his new broom, but his father was trusting him with obtaining provisions for the household and Lucius didn’t want to let him down by neglecting this task. He took the list from his pocket. “We need to go to Borgin and Burke’s.” 

“Knockturn Alley?” Robena asked faintly.

Lucius looked at her, bemused. “Of course. Where else?” He turned and headed in that direction. 

Robena took his arm and stopped him. “I’m not comfortable letting you go there, Lucius.”

Lucius looked at her hand on his arm and then into her face where concern was writ large. He smiled at her reassuringly. “I’ve been going to Knockturn Alley my entire life, Miss March. I really don’t see what the fuss is about.” He put his his own hand on hers. “If you truly feel unsafe, you’re welcome to stay here in Diagon Alley.”

“Not on your life, Lucius.” Robena dropped her hand. “If you’re going to Knockturn Alley, I’ll not let you go alone.”

“You’re so _brave,_ Miss March. Are you sure you weren’t in Gryffindor?”

Robena folded her arms. “I’ll not go until you wipe that smirk from your face.”

Lucius nodded graciously. “Then, as I said, you may stay here and I can take my person and my smirk both to Knockturn Alley without your assistance. Now, if you _do_ care to join me, we don’t have all day.” Before Robena could protest, Lucius turned on his heel and strode off down the cobblestones. Robena followed along behind Lucius, as he knew she would. Lucius made the turn and went down the slight slope that led to Knockturn Alley, his spine straight and his chin pointed up. Although he had come here as a matter of course, he also knew that the best practice was to walk in as if he owned the place. 

As such, no one bothered them. Then again, at ten o’clock in the morning, few witches and wizards milled about; in Lucius’ experience, the alley truly reflected its name. One grimy, unshaven specimen lay curled on his side in a doorway, an empty bottle of Firewhiskey lying centimeters from his outstretched fingers. His eyes were closed and one was discolored and swollen. Lucius wasn’t sure if he was asleep or dead and found he didn’t care. It was no affair of his, although Robena’s eyes flicked to the figure as she carefully skirted him, the fretful look remaining on her face. 

They arrived at Borgin and Burke’s without incident and Mr. Borgin greeted Lucius with respect, as was fitting despite Lucius’ youth. Robena wisely stayed silent, watching the exchange as Lucius handed off the list. “Well?” Lucius raised an eyebrow, his chin still pointed up.

Mr. Borgin smiled his oily smile. “Everything seems to be in order, Master Malfoy, although I’ll need to order the powdered wyvern talon special. Terribly sorry for the inconvenience.”

“Do as you must,” Lucius said indifferently. “Father shall expect an owl when it comes in.”

Mr. Borgin bowed his head, his smile not moving an inch, although Lucius saw that it stopped well below his eyes. “Of course, Master Malfoy.” 

Just then, someone came out of the back of the shop and approached the counter. It took all of Lucius’ good breeding not to let his shock at this person’s appearance show on his face. It was a man of sorts, tall, dark, and well-favored with wavy brown hair and flashing eyes. However, sprouting from his ribcage bilaterally were four six-foot long tentacles, which caressed the shelves carefully as he walked by. 

Mr. Borgin’s smile evaporated. “I’ve told you not to come in here during normal business hours,” he hissed, a vein now bulging in his greasy forehead. 

The outlandish man smiled. “My most sincere and humble apologies, sir." His voice was mellow, with some unidentifiable accent overlying his obvious sarcasm. As he approached the counter, Lucius could also feel the prickle of magic radiating off of him, similar to when Lucius stood over a ley line, but without the effort of tapping in. The stranger leaned an elbow on the counter, smiling serenely at Mr. Borgin and making no effort whatsoever to leave, his tentacles unfurling along the surface. He caught Lucius’ eye and winked.

Lucius kept his expression dispassionate but gave his iciest nod out of base politeness. This just made the stranger’s smile widen. Out of the corner of his eye, Lucius saw Robena staring with her mouth slightly open. Involuntarily, a muscle in Lucius’ cheek twitched with amusement. 

“Are you going to introduce me to your guests?” the stranger asked Mr. Borgin, now seeing Robena behind Lucius and leering at her.

If anything, the vein in Mr. Borgin’s forehead grew even more prominent and his hooded eyes bulged. “Why, you insolent—“

“Lucius Malfoy.” Impulsively, Lucius stepped forward and offered his hand to the stranger. 

The man detached himself from the counter, the dozens of suckers on his tentacles coming off of the surface with wet little pops, leaving a series of damp circles on the polished glass. 

Mr. Borgin’s eyes widened in alarm. “Master Malfoy, you needn’t concern yourself with the likes of him. He’s only—“ 

Lucius gave Mr. Borgin a dead-eyed stare. “I’ll acquaint myself with whom I wish, Mr. Borgin,” he said coldly. “And I’ll thank you not to interfere in the manner in which I conduct my business.”

“Of course, Master Malfoy, I just—I mean, I was just trying to…” Mr. Borgin’s stammering voice trailed off. 

“Casimir Mataxas,” the man said, taking Lucius’ hand in his. One of tentacles reached out as well and encased Lucius’ wrist. It was an unnerving feeling, but Lucius kept his hand where it was, captivated with this new experience. Casimir looked at Lucius intently, comprehension dawning in his dark eyes at something secret he perceived there. “And who is your lovely lady friend?” he said, finally dropping Lucius’ hand.

“May I present my governess, Miss Robena March? Miss March, this is Casimir Mataxas.” Lucius stepped aside and took Robena by the arm, gently pushing her towards his new acquaintance. Robena still had the same glazed expression on her face and Lucius barely resisted the urge to snap his fingers in front of her eyes. As if in a trance, Robena reached out her hand. Casimir took it and gave it a similar treatment with one of his tentacles, although this time, he drew her hand up to his mouth and kissed its dorsal surface. As he did, Robena shuddered and closed her eyes for a moment. Lucius watched in fascination. This venture had already turned out to be far more interesting than he could have imagined and they were only on their first stop. 

“Charmed,” Casimir whispered, his eyes mischievous. The tentacle wrapped around her wrist held on for a moment longer than his hand and before he let go. His eyes flicked from Robena to Lucius and for just a heartbeat, his smile faltered into a look of coldness before he recovered, grinning as if nothing had happened. 

It seemed to take Robena two tries to speak. “Wh-what do you do, Mr. Mataxas?”

“I’m merely a humble tenant of Mr. Borgin’s,” he said. “I own a modest import/export business adjacent to his own establishment.” One of his tentacles produced a golden business card and held it out to Robena. 

She took it from him carefully and Lucius watched her eyes scan it. As they did, a rosy flush crept up her face. 

“You would be most welcome to visit whenever you wish, Miss March.” Casimir's voice dropping seductively. 

“Yes—well…most kind—must be going,” Robena muttered, her blush only deepening. 

Lucius frowned. _What on earth was written on that card to draw such a reaction from Robena?_ he wondered. “Do you have a card for me as well, Mr. Mataxas?” he asked.

Casimir made a pretense of patting down his pockets. “My sincerest apologies, Master Malfoy; Miss March got my very last one.” His smile didn’t waver, but his demeanor had adopted the same coolness that had been there before. For just a second, his eyes darted to the right side of Lucius’ neck, before returning to his face. “Good to meet you both.” 

Lucius studied him a moment more before Casimir turned and walked back to the counter where Mr. Borgin stood, his arms folded and a deep scowl on his unattractive features. Lucius turned and walked past Robena, taking her arm en route. When they got back outside, Lucius dropped her arm. “Has anyone ever told you that it’s rude to stare, Miss March?” 

Robena’s chest moved up and down rapidly and her eyes flicked to the door out of which they had just exited. She seemed too rattled even to deflect or return Lucius’ barb, much to his disappointment. “We must return to Diagon Alley at once,” she said, her voice tight and strained. 

Lucius felt his smirk fade. “As you wish, Miss March." Luckily, there were no more stops they needed to make in Knockturn Alley, so the two of them returned to the brightness and bustle of Diagon Alley. As they turned into the thoroughfare, Lucius watched Robena visibly relax. “Feel better?” he asked dryly.

Robena looked at him, lost. “What?”

“I said, ‘do you feel better?’ Honestly, Miss March, if I had known Knockturn Alley would have such a poor affect on you, I would never have brought you there.” Lucius now genuinely worried about her and felt a twinge of remorse. Still, he had had to go; the errand was necessary and Robena had ultimately agreed to go as well.

“No.” Robena shook her head as if trying to clear it of water. “I’ll be all right. Thank you for your concern. Where to next?” 

“Where would you like to go?” Lucius smiled.

“Oh…” Robena looked around the alley somewhat distractedly. 

“How about Flourish and Blott’s?” Lucius kept his voice mild.

“All right.” Robena nodded once more.

 _Who’s governing who today?_ Lucius thought, but for once he kept the unkind verbal missile behind his teeth and gently led Robena to the venerable bookstore, a place that would no doubt lift her spirits and, if Lucius was lucky, the place in which he would meet the person who would help him meet his destiny.


	18. Ch. 45: Reflections; Ch. 46: An Ally; Ch. 47: Apollo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flustered after meeting Casimir, Robena takes a breather in Flourish and Blotts. While there, she worries about Lucius becoming too much like his father despite her influence. Robena then reflects on her current situation with Abraxas, realizing that she has reached an impasse. Robena seeks Casimir out while Lucius' attention is diverted elsewhere. Lucius finally meets Apollo Lovegood and his son Xeno.
> 
>  _Robena reached out her own hand towards the siren’s exposed neck, shadowing the handprint exactly._ No, not Abraxas, _she thought,_ Someone with significantly smaller hands. _“Oh no,” she breathed. It was Lucius’ hand; of that she felt certain. Robena’s mind assaulted her with questions to which she did not want to know the answer: Had he enjoyed it? Had he thrilled at the heady power holding the siren’s life in his hands had bestowed upon him? Was he so much his father’s son as that?_ You won’t save him, not in the end.

FORTY-FIVE: REFLECTIONS 

Robena let Lucius lead her into Flourish and Blott’s. She put one foot in front of the other, Lucius’ hand a reassuring presence in her own, but she possessed little awareness of what was happening. He was saying something to her, something about how he would be right back: he was just going to talk to a local author who was holding court in the meeting space in the back of the store. Lucius sat Robena down in an armchair in a corner of the shop and placed some sort of volume in her hand. Robena opened it and flipped the pages automatically while the words in front of her appeared as no more than meaningless specks of black detritus on a sepia-toned ocean, like an ancient and forgotten shipwreck surfacing after a storm. Nothing whatsoever felt real after her encounter with Casimir Mataxas. 

Giving up on any pretense of actually reading or doing anything else of use, Robena closed her eyes and tilted her head back so it rested on the soft, dark brown velour of the chair and let the world fall away. She realized too that part of the reason that nothing felt real was that her entire existence had distilled and focused into Malfoy Manor so anything that deviated from that felt like an illusion. The estate was an island and when she was there, nothing else existed. No doubt that was how Abraxas Malfoy wanted things; it was his world, constructed of marble, granite, glass, and cruelty. 

The best part for Abraxas was that anyone in his realm would by necessity subject him or herself to his rule. The other choices were expulsion, destruction, or death. There was room for nothing else as far as Abraxas was concerned. And because Robena had sworn to herself that she would end him, she in turn had subjected herself to his rule utterly as part of her ruse. Still, it was difficult to keep her resolve when Abraxas crooked his finger, closed the door, confiscated Robena’s wand, saw to his own trousers and bent Robena to his will over and over again. 

Robena’s only defense lay in the silent repetition of that which had become her mantra, an unremitting chant, like Muggles praying the Rosary or wizardkind laying wards on a house, _I’m going to kill him…_ Robena had her monthly cycle and warned Abraxas that her filthy blood was likely to go all over him if he sought satisfaction in her that night. He had looked at her quizzically. _Do you not recall what I told you on our first encounter, Miss March? How there were two choices available to me?_ He reached in a drawer and brought forth a bottle of Oil of Slipperiness and a knowing smile. _Turn over, Miss March._ She complied. What else could she do? He got behind her. _I’m going to kill him_ His hands gripped her hips hard and drew them up to him. _I’m going to kill him._ And then, slowly but unstoppably, he availed himself of that second option. _I’m going to kill him._

Another day and Abraxas was in a foul mood. Robena had done all that he had asked, but must not have been doing it in the right spirit because he took out his wand and pointed it at her. She froze. _I’m going to kill him._ Abraxas smiled coldly. _I recall that you said you didn’t want me to take you under the Imperius Curse. But..._ He looked at his drawn wand, the tip mere centimeters from Robena’s face where she knelt in front of him. _I’m going to kill him._ Abraxas looked back at her now. _…there’s really nothing you can do about it if—I beg your pardon--_ when-- _I choose to do so._ Robena’s insides quaked and she did everything she could not to let the dread show on her face. _Imperio._ The feeling of peace descended, the dripping, oozing, trickling power of his voice reaching into every intimate place in her consciousness and willpower and negating it, replacing it with his. _I’m going to kill him._

Later that week and Robena wasn’t moving fast enough for him. Abraxas got into position above her and hit her hard in the face with the back of his hand. _I’m going to kill him._ It smarted, of course, but the off-the-cuff brutality with which he had done it was more chilling than him actually striking her. _I’m going to kill him._ Blood dripped into her mouth from her split lip, tasting of salt and metal as he did what he pleased above her. _I’m going to kill him._ After he finished, he transfigured a piece of parchment into a flannel and tossed it to her. _Clean yourself up,_ he said in disgust. _Lucius is going to see,_ she told him, her voice soft. Abraxas raised an eyebrow. _I can always hurt you in ways that he_ can’t, _you know. You’re resourceful, are you not? I’m sure you’ll come up with something._ He smiled. _I’m going to kill him…kill him…kill him._

Whether Robena was docile or whether she gave him the merest hints of rebellion, Abraxas found new and creative ways to degrade her, hurt her, and humiliate her. The line between her pretending to be broken and her actually being broken blurred day by day. When Abraxas came up with something particularly vicious, her repeating that she would kill him became empty words, just as _don’t let him break you_ already had long before. He was winning and they both knew it. Robena realized that she needed to somehow strengthen her resolve and come up with a solid plan, as well as some sort of contingency for Lucius and for herself as well. 

In the bookstore, Robena moved her head to the side, one ear now blocked from the noise of the bookstore. Lucius had indeed noticed her split lip and asked about it, distrust in his eyes. Robena came up with another lie, one in which she tripped and hit her lip on the edge of a chair. She knew that Lucius didn’t believe her and why should he? She was a terrible liar and some part of her, perhaps a selfish part, wanted to let him know just how horrible his father really was. 

_To what point or purpose, though?_ Robena wondered. The problem remained that Abraxas was Lucius’ sole parent as well as a role model for him and perhaps everything that Lucius wanted to be when he grew to manhood. With Lucius’ repetitions of _Father says this_ or _Father says that_ , Robena increasingly believed what Druella Black had said about him choosing Abraxas over her. Robena knew also that it would kill her if she told Lucius any version of the truth and had him choose Abraxas’ side against her. She hoped that day would be far off but also knew that it would come as certain as the tides. 

No, it was better for everyone involved if she kept Lucius in the dark. What Robena truly needed was an ally. She opened her eyes and brought out the golden card that Casimir had given her from the meeting that had thrown her into such a state of dissociation. The front of the card said, _Isadora’s Recreation Club: A meeting place for the indulgence of discerning taste._ Robena suspected this was no less than a euphemism for a house of ill repute, likely stabled with creatures like Casimir. _Well, if there really_ are _any creatures like Casimir,_ she amended reasonably, a flush blooming on her cheeks once more. Isadora’s nature hadn't actually been what had so undone Robena, it was two other factors. First, Casimir seemed familiar to her but she couldn’t place how or why. Second was due to what Casimir had written on the back of the card: _Yes, he has enemies. Let me know how I can help._

Even reading it now, Robena felt a chill. How had Casimir known? She suspected it had everything to do with the greeting that he had bestowed upon her, enhanced by his unique physiognomy. Robena remembered reading once that a huge percentage of an octopus’ neurons were in its tentacles, a creature whose neurology had evolved completely differently than that of humans. She could only imagine what that might mean to a magical being along those lines; each one of those four tentacles could have a different psychometric power, for all that Robena knew. She had concluded was that Casimir Mataxas was not of this world, not a creature of Merlin’s realm but something else entirely, and old, as ancient as the earth itself, perhaps.

 _And now he runs a whorehouse._ Robena turned the card over and over in her hands, considering her options. The siren thus far had appeared to be Robena’s only choice, a clear and powerful enemy of Abraxas Malfoy. However, the problem remained that she was unpredictable, unstable, malevolent and like Casimir, not of this realm. _She’s also Lucius’ enemy at this point,_ Robena thought. She dismissed the thought impatiently. _But I’m not involving Lucius; in that much I am resolved._

On a nice day about a week prior, Robena had ventured back to the Fell Circle. She had no intention of waking the siren, but she wanted to gaze upon her, perhaps to come to some sort of resolution about her own situation. The sunlight filtered through the trees, splashing beams into the Fell Circle itself. Without mist, without gloom, and without snow, the Fell Circle seemed innocuous. The cheerful dappled sunlight made it little more than a graceful collection of fine Italian marble statuary, not unlike what any wealthy family in England might have on display in a garden or lawn. The siren stood on her appointed marble block, no more or less frightening than any other of her companions therein. 

Her spine was perfectly straight, her chin tilted up slightly and her smooth marble arms stood straight at her sides, her fists clenched and forearm tendons flexed on the insides of her wrists. Robena looked up from her arms to her neck and swallowed, her throat dry, when she saw what was there: a bloody handprint, the most blood of any statue. Whoever had put her to sleep not only had used a lot of blood, but the placement suggested violent or possibly murderous intent. _Abraxas’ work no doubt,_ Robena concluded. She squinted. _Still…_

Robena crept closer, not daring to touch the siren of course, but reached out her own hand towards the siren’s exposed neck, holding it a few centimeters above, shadowing the handprint exactly. _No, not Abraxas,_ she thought, _Someone with significantly smaller hands._ “Oh no,” she breathed. It was Lucius’ hand; of that she felt certain. Robena’s mind assaulted her with questions to which she did not want to know the answer: Had he enjoyed it? Had he thrilled at the heady power holding the siren’s life in his hands had bestowed upon him? Was he so much his father’s son as that? _You won’t save him, not in the end._

Robena drew her own hand away from the siren, wondering if it would thus be a mercy to Lucius if she should rid him of Abraxas before his father’s influence on his character became indelible. A wind kicked up, brushing the dry leaf litter up in a tiny tornado as a cloud passed over the sun. Robena hugged herself in the sudden chill as once again the Fell Circle turned back into its menacing self. The siren now looked imposing and cold once more. The red splash on the front of her throat reminded Robena that, if nothing else, she needed Abraxas’ blood before talking to the siren. Even if the siren cooperated completely, she could not go back to sleep without Malfoy blood, and Robena was not about to free her.

 _Even though that may be the price for rendering her aid,_ Robena thought. But even the siren should realize that Robena freeing her would need to be timed flawlessly. Robena wasn’t opposed to the idea; as in her dream, the siren’s predicament showed Robena a distorted reflection of her own, made worse by her immortality and imprisonment in marble. 

In the time between then until today’s foray into Diagon Alley, Robena wracked her brain trying to come up with an idea of how to get Abraxas’ blood without him noticing. Robena would happily apply a blade to his person in order to get his blood as she hated him utterly, but the problem was that unless she stabbed him in the heart or sliced his throat, his revenge for such an attack would be swift and likely deadly. 

In Flourish and Blotts, Robena ran her thumb over the words printed on Casimir’s card. Suddenly, she stood. Leaving the book, Robena stowed the card in her pocket and went to find Lucius. He sat in the back of a small circle of gathered witches and wizards who waited for whomever this author was. Robena tapped Lucius on the shoulder and leaned down to him. He turned and looked at her. “Will you be fine if I leave you for just a few minutes?”

“Yes, of course, Miss March, but what do you need to do?” Again that suspicious look crossed his face, the same one that had been there when she had lied about her injuries at his father’s hands.

“I just remembered that I need to go to Madame Malkin’s to speak to her about a new light cloak for spring. Unless…you’d like to go with me?” The excuse was sufficiently boring that with any luck it would not arouse Lucius’ suspicion further. 

Lucius shook his head vehemently. “I’ll stay here, thank you.” 

“Very well. Don’t leave until I return.”

Lucius nodded in agreement and then turned back around. Robena walked back out to Diagon Alley, noticing that more wizards and witches milled about now. Robena surveyed them, biting her lip. She needed to go to Knockturn Alley without delay, as she didn’t want to lose her nerve, and had no idea when the opportunity might present itself again. The other problem was that she needed absolute discretion: her very life relied upon it. 

Robena ducked into a doorway and cast a quick Disillusionment Charm on herself. It wasn’t as effective as a demiguise-fur cloak, as she had to move quickly and that would create a motion blur if she wasn’t careful, but it was better than strolling back down Knockturn Alley as herself. She would also now lack the protection by proxy that Lucius had provided with his family’s impeccable bloodline and daunting reputation. 

At least a Disillusionment Charm would hold if Robena kept to the shadows, of which Knockturn Alley had many. She made it back to Borgin and Burke’s without incident, but then realized that Casimir had come from the back of the shop. This could only mean that she could only reach the entrance to his property by going straight through Borgin and Burke’s, at which point Abraxas Malfoy’s allies would see her and would report her movements to him. In an indirect way, Abraxas himself had warned her of that. 

Luckily, Robena didn’t have to wait long. A wizard with tattered black robes and a scar cleaving half of his face, permanently closing one eye and twisting one side of his mouth into an ineradicable sneer opened the door of Borgin and Burke’s to enter. Robena sprinted across the alley and slipped in directly behind him, immediately concealing herself behind a suit of armor. She then waited for the unsavory wizard to engage Mr. Borgin’s attention, before she surreptitiously edged to the rear of the store and slipped out the back door.

Robena found herself in an even grimier and darker alley. She looked up at the soot-covered brick walls all around her, wondering if she had made a mistake. No, she was here now and thus had to proceed, otherwise she had risked much for nothing. Robena set her mouth grimly with new-found conviction. Ahead of her, an open wrought-iron gate led to a set of rusty iron stairs. Robena walked down these, finding a door and a bell pull with a small, italic _I_ next to it. It had to be this place. Robena gave the rope a firm pull. 

“Who is it?” came Casimir’s voice from the other side of the door.

“Erm…it’s Robena…Miss March, Mr. Mataxas. We met a short while ago?” 

The door opened and Casimir leaned against the door frame, his tentacles exploring the door jamb. He smiled at her. “A _very_ short while ago, Miss March. Please come in.”

FORTY-SIX: AN ALLY

Robena looked once more around the alley and then crossed over the threshold as Casimir held the door for her before closing it behind them both. Robena saw a blue glow coming from whatever room stood before her. Curious, she wandered a few paces in and looked about her in wonder. The high-ceilinged room contained a massive aquarium, full of dozens of tanks of varying sizes containing a dizzying array of aquatic creatures. The variety ran the gamut from tiny, jewel-toned red and blue neon tetras that could be found at any Muggle pet store all the way to a floor-to ceiling tank containing grindylows. They gathered in pairs or small groups and pointed at Robena with slender fingers, grimacing with wide mouths redolent with jagged needle-like teeth. 

“Sit, please,” Casimir said, gesturing to a turquoise couch facing a tank of Fulminant Eels that swam restlessly from one end of their darkened tank to the other, sending out blue crackles of electricity with each pass. Robena sat down and Casimir sat opposite her in a matching armchair, his tentacles wrapping around the arms and the back. “Would you like something to drink?”

“I really can’t stay long, Mr. Mataxas.” Robena's eyes darted to the door. 

Casimir smiled at her indulgently and raised both of his superior tentacles, letting them start to curl in unison. Robena watched in fascination. As they curled tighter, the suckers turning in neatly, Robena felt the prickle on the back of her neck and an increase in air pressure that told her magic was building. A glow grew within those tightly wound tentacles and the air shimmered around them. Suddenly, Casimir uncoiled them and the very air itself vibrated, making every tank tremor as the pressure released. Robena looked around. All the fish had stopped swimming mid-stroke. The grindylows had paused, their limbs and their own tentacles immobile. Even the Fulminant Eels’ lightning had frozen like tiny, luminous trees. “How about now?” Casimir asked, his mellow voice lazy. 

To Robena, there was something very familiar about all of this, but she couldn’t put her finger on what. She looked back from the tanks to Casimir. “How long can you hold this spell?” she couldn’t help but ask.

Casimir shrugged. “As long as I need to. Now, how can I help you, Miss March?”

“I—I don’t know, actually.” Robena brushed her fingers over her forehead. “You did something strange to me…back there.” She looked up in the direction of Borgin and Burkes.

Casimir’s eyebrows flew up. “Oh, goodness…if I had a Sickle for every time I heard a woman say _that_ to me, Miss March…”

Robena sighed. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come.” 

“Oh, relax. That’s what this place is for, after all.” 

“I didn’t come here for pleasure, Mr. Mataxas.”

Again the lazy smile. “I know. Pity.” 

“Yes,” Robena said pointedly, sitting forward and resting her forearms on her knees. “You _do_ know. _What_ do you know? Perhaps we should start there.”

“Very well.” Casimir leaned forward as well, roughly mimicking Robena’s posture, although his tentacles made it impossible, with their ever probing, ever moving presence. “I read you when I took your hands, your young companion as well.” He sighed. “A bad habit perhaps, but I’ve found that people are so unnerved by my audacity that they never actually stop me from doing it. You’d be amazed what I can learn.” He leaned back once more, putting his hands behind his head, his lower tentacles now crossing over his chest and abdomen. “I typically use this ability to read what people want as far as _this_ place is concerned.” He looked around cursorily before finding Robena’s eyes again. “I find it saves time, and once people cross the threshold, they have few secrets. We don’t judge, we simply accommodate. Thus, the more I can find out, the more accommodating I—or we—can be.” 

“What…what did you find out about me?” Robena almost didn’t want to know and it reminded her of what Francois had done to her. That made her like Casimir far less. She scowled. “And if you use the word _responsive_ , so help me, Merlin, I’m going to—“

Casimir held up a hand. “It wasn’t that kind of a reading. I only do _that_ with prospective clients, anyway. But I do it in some capacity with all the beings I meet because I like to know what they would hide from the world.” 

“What am I hiding?”

“Some dreams. A tremendous amount of pain. And not just yours, but the pain of everyone around you.” With this, all mischief left his face.

“And Lucius?” Robena’s voice had dropped almost to a whisper.

Casimir’s expression hardened. “Malice. Entitled viciousness passed from generation to generation for centuries.” 

“That’s not him; that’s his father.” Robena looked down at the floor, a stunning mosaic of sea creatures rendered in small, brightly-colored ceramic tiles. “He’s a child.” She looked back up at Casimir, who appeared unmoved. “People seem to forget that. I mean, he seems precocious because he’s got quite a mind on him, one that he sharpens through extensive study and reasoning. He’s also an only child and his thrice-damned father—his only parent, by the way--holds him to such impossibly high standards that I think all of it has forced him to grow up rather quickly.”

Casimir spread his hands apart. “All I can tell you is what I saw. He is every bit as vicious as his father, or will be when he becomes a man. Nothing you can do will stop that. And he’s going to be far more dangerous because he has something key that his father lacks.”

“What’s that?” Robena was almost afraid to ask as she knew in her heart of hearts that Casimir spoke the truth.

Casimir smiled, his fingers spread apart. “Charm. He will draw people to him, make them do his will not through threat but because they shall _want_ to do it and then he shall crush them as he sees fit.” 

“Well, as far as this is concerned…” Robena took the card out of her pocket and held it up, “he’s not the enemy and as such, not part of the equation, whatever that might be.” She replaced the card.

“You love him.” It wasn’t a question. “That does make things more complicated...” Casimir used one tentacle to stroke his chin, pondering, “…but not insurmountably so.” 

Robena tilted her head to the side. “Why do you want to help me? What’s in it for you? Are you an enemy of Abraxas and why?” 

Casimir leaned back once more, putting an elbow and two tentacles over one side of the arm chair. “Oh, I’m not an enemy of Abraxas Malfoy alone. Personally, I would see the entire Malfoy line ended.” 

Robena frowned as again came the nagging sense of familiarity. “Well, harming Lucius is a non-starter. I don’t need your help as badly as all that.” 

Casimir raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you? How were you planning on killing Abraxas? _Can_ you even kill him? Somehow I have a hard time believing you have it in you.”

Robena worried at her lip with her teeth, but said nothing. Casimir was not saying anything that Robena herself had not asked and were all questions that had so far stayed her hand. 

“If you can’t, you should probably just leave, not just here and now, but I mean leave Malfoy Manor,” Casimir concluded.

“I can’t leave,” Robena said softly. “I’m the only person standing between Lucius and his father’s unremitting attempts to strip him utterly of his humanity. Besides, if I go, Abraxas will simply find another Muggle-born witch to torment after I’m gone. I can’t allow that.”

“If he kills you, the situation shall be exactly the same. The only difference is that you’ll be dead.”

“He’s not going to kill me. He needs me.”

“Are you telling me or telling yourself?” Casimir asked flatly. “Things have been escalating, haven’t they? How long do you think you have before Abraxas takes his part of all this to its inevitable conclusion? A few weeks? A few months? A year?”

Robena shook her head stubbornly. “He would never get away with it.”

Casimir laughed mirthlessly now. “Of _course_ he would. You know that he would; that’s why you’re here. You need to kill him and you need a helper.”

Robena looked at him. “I may already have a helper, you know." 

All traces of amusement left Casimir’s face. He stood and walked slowly over to the grindylow tank. When he got there, he let his tentacles splay on the glass. He then took a finger and traced over the surface of the closest one, swirling in a pattern. “Her name is Daphne,” he said quietly. His had tilted his head down and a look of profound loss drained his face, making him seem older, if such a thing was possible. “And she can’t help you.”

“What?” Robena stood and crossed over to the tank as well. 

“Your so-called ‘helper,’ the Malfoys’ captive siren: her name is Daphne.” Casimir tore his eyes away from the grindylow tank and looked at Robena. “She’s my sister…well, half-sister.” 

Robena felt all the hair on the back of her neck and arms stand up as the pieces fell into place. The time-stopping spell done wandless was familiar to Robena because she had seen the siren, _her name is Daphne_ do it in her first Fell Circle dream. Daphne had tried to end the Malfoy line herself by compelling Lucius to cut his own throat. And now Casimir had sought Robena out because she could help him free Daphne from the Malfoys’ ancient curse. Or could she? “What happened?” Robena asked when she finally found her voice.

Casimir grunted. “Pierre Malfoy happened. He caught Daphne off of the coast of what you might call Capri, not long ago, maybe a few years before…” He drifted off, his brows lowering in consternation before he glanced at Robena. “What year is it now?”

“It’s 1965.”

Casimir raised his eyebrows. “Really? So, again, not so _terribly_ long ago, maybe 400 years.”

That Casimir could be so cavalier about centuries took Robena aback. Still, she supposed that it came with being immortal, which she was beginning to think Casimir was and probably Daphne too, in addition to some of the other Fell Circle creatures. “I’ll bet Daphne’s felt every second of it,” Robena said fervently.

“Well, yes, but you have to understand, we reckon our time completely differently than you do. In fact, our time doesn’t even always travel in a straight line, but speeds up, slows down, doubles back…”

Robena looked around at the sea creatures suspended in limbo with Casimir’s time-stopping spell. “No doubt." 

“In any case, Pierre Malfoy captured her with his trickery and cunning, took her to Malfoy Manor and cut her throat in a Dark Arts Ritual, sealing her life force into a marble statue, to do the bidding of the Malfoys for eternity.”

“So she’s…dead?” 

Casimir shrugged. “Not really. Our kind can’t exactly die, but Daphne’s situation is complex, even for a siren. As long as her statue remains on the Malfoy estate, they can enslave her. By that token, the life’s blood of a Malfoy can free her, can free all of them. That’s where you come in.”

“What if someone destroys her statue?”

A look of pain crossed Casimir’s features. “That’s the one and only way that she _could_ die. As long as her statue remains intact, someone can free her.” He smiled once more. “But I think we can agree that the Malfoys will do everything possible to preserve her statue, so I shouldn’t worry about it.”

“So…you need me to kill Abraxas Malfoy, collect some of the final blood he’s ever going to spill and use it to free the—Daphne. Free Daphne.” Robena felt her face fall. “So I’m going to have to kill him violently?”

Casimir smiled coldly. “What did you expect? Fret not, Miss March: you humans are appallingly fragile, full of gooey, goopy stuff that, when it leaks out of you, tends to end your very short lives. And yes, I’m talking about _blood,_ you know, not the _fun_ gooey, goopy stuff that comes out of--” 

“Yes, very articulate, Mr. Mataxas,” Robena cut him off. “My predecessor was going to use tincture of oleander.”

“That would have done it. Unfortunately, such a tidy solution will not work for you.”

“So I hear. Also, her attempt was clumsy and Abraxas caught her at it.” Robena looked at the suspended grindylows. “I’m not at all sure he won’t catch me as well. Moreover, I’m also worried about killing him and leaving Lucius without a father.”

Casimir sighed impatiently. “Then you don’t have the fortitude to do this. Not really. You must come up with a plan, one that you can handle, as well as a contingency if that first plan goes awry. And yes, it must involve spilling his life’s blood.”

Robena shuddered at the memory of Lucius cutting his own throat and all the blood resultant from that. 

Casimir continued, walking back over to the armchair and sitting down once more. “The impression that I got was that you empathized with Daphne, that you had something in common with her. That alone should make your job easy, if the memories of what Abraxas has done to _you_ don’t.”

 _Bound by lovers two,_ Robena recalled. She returned to the couch, sat down, and folded her arms. “That was before she tried to kill my charge.”

“Well, after centuries of abuse at the hands of the Malfoys, can you honestly blame her?”

“For trying to kill a child? Absolutely.” 

“No, for trying to end her own enslavement.”

Robena sighed. She knew that this argument was going to go nowhere and so she opted to take the conversation in a different, more productive direction. “What are you going to do for me?”

Casimir leaned towards her, resting his elbows and two tentacles on his knees. “I am going to craft your exit strategy. Daphne’s as well. Surely you can’t expect to walk out the front gate once the deed is done and fly off to the sunny shores of Anthemoessa.”

Robena’s brows knit. “Where?”

Casimir waved a hand. “Never mind, you won’t have heard of it.”

“Speaking of Daphne, I need to wake her and talk to her about all of this. Any ideas of how I can get Abraxas Malfoy’s blood without him killing me first so I can put Daphne back to sleep and _she_ doesn’t kill me with the power of her voice?”

“I don’t think she would do that if you were there to help her, particularly if you were to mention my name.”

“Very well, but I still would need Abraxas’ blood for any of that to work.”

Casimir smirked. “Not necessarily.”

Robena shook her head. “All of this Malfoy magic and power stems from blood. Abraxas has made it clear in a variety of ways that my blood is less than worthy.” Robena heard the bitterness in her own voice as she said this last.

Casimir’s eyes now sparkled and both corners of his mouth twitched.

“What? What’s so funny?”

“How do I put this delicately?” Casimir steepled his fingers in front of his mouth. “In the times that Abraxas has fucked you, how many times has he spilled his seed within you?”

Robena gasped at Casimir’s sudden vulgarity. 

Casimir looked around with some exasperation. “Look where we are, Miss March. Save your indignation for the man who is truly causing you the gravest offense and engaging in the grossest impropriety of all.”

Robena felt her eyebrows go up. It was a good point. “Every time. He’s made it clear that he cannot impregnate me, so he does as he wills.”

“Then he’s conveyed a huge advantage to you.” Casimir held up a hand. “Unintentionally, of course.”

“Meaning?”

Casimir leaned back. “Oh no, if your delicate sensibilities find my perfectly appropriate use of profanity so very horrifying, you definitely will not be able to handle what I’m about to tell you.”

“It’s profanity: its impropriety fuels its very existence.” She rubbed her temple with her fingers. “Please just…just tell me.”

“Very well.” He leaned forward again. “Every time he spills his seed in you, he is leaving a part of himself and, more importantly, his ancestors, in you. Thus, for a short period of time, by extension, your blood carries the power of the Malfoy line.”

Robena felt a mixture of horror, wonder, and amusement. Her mind called up the very first time Abraxas had raped her. _I’m injecting you with sorely-needed purity, Miss March. I know better than to expect your gratitude…even though I surely deserve it._ In a perverse way, he had been right, but in the end it would weaken him, possibly fatally. The thought warmed Robena, that something positive might actually come out of the Hades that her life had become. “How long would this last, do you think?” Robena asked.

Casimir stroked his chin now with his fingers. “It’s difficult to say, but I wouldn’t wait more than a sunrise or a sunset.” 

Robena shifted on the couch. “You spoke of crafting an exit strategy for myself and for Daphne? What did you mean by that and how would you achieve it?”

Casimir dropped his hand, once again caressing the closest tentacle with it, encircling one sucker delicately with a finger. “Tell me, Miss March. Is there a body of water on the Malfoy estate?”

“Well, there’s a charming brook…and apparently it runs concurrently with the Venus Line.”

The corner of Casimir’s mouth quirked up. “And does this magically-enhanced and charming brook end in a pool?”

“I’m not sure,” Robena said. “I’ve never walked its full course to see where it ends. Why? What’s a pool to you?”

Casimir now fully grinned, a flash of white teeth in the darkened room. “Why, Miss March, a pool or standing body of water on the Malfoy estate with its converging ley lines is, for me, nothing short of a blank canvas.”

FORTY-SEVEN: APOLLO

When Robena left on her errand, Lucius hadn’t given her or the matter much thought, except to consider curiously what that strange man with the tentacles, Casimir Mataxas, had written on the card he had given her just prior. Back in the Borgin and Burke’s, Lucius had shaken his hand mostly to spite Mr. Borgin, whose obsequiousness was starting to grate on Lucius’ nerves. Also, in Lucius’ eleven years around wizardkind and no small amount of the fantastical already, he had never seen Casimir’s equal. The main sense that Lucius had gotten from him was otherworldliness, agelessness, and magical power, but one different than witches and wizards, one more primeval and organic. 

Casimir had exhibited a profound effect on Robena as well, whether because of his outlandish appearance, his aura of potency, or something else, he and his card had seemed to shake Miss March to her core. A distant part of Lucius’ brain wondered if maybe she was actually going back to see him instead of going to Madame Malkin’s, but first of all, it was Robena’s business, and second of all, none of it mattered at this time, because Lucius finally was going to get the chance to meet Apollo Lovegood, the man predicted to lead Lucius to the demiguise.

Mr. Lovegood was not yet in attendance when Lucius found a seat. A few wizards and witches had gathered to hear him talk about his new book, and, true to his word, Hector Giovane joined Lucius shortly after Robena had made her exit. Lucius stood politely when Hector came into the author nook, shrugging off his light blue wool cloak. “You’re looking tan, Mr. Giovane,” Lucius said with a smile.

“Yes, yes.” Hector ran a hand subconsciously through his sandy hair. “The sun in Italy has done me a world of good.” He raised his eyebrows. “You should go sometime, you know,” he added suddenly. 

“Well, you seem to have brought the sun back with you, and for that I believe all of England thanks you." 

“Goodness, if only I _could_ control the weather…” Hector shook his head before his eyes flitted around the room. “Surely you’re not here by yourself, are you? Is your father with you?” Hector’s forehead creased at this.

“No. My governess was kind enough to accompany me today, but she had to step out on a personal errand and shall return shortly.”

Hector nodded. “Shall we sit, then?”

They sat back down in two of the chairs arranged in a semi-circle around a podium. After a few minutes, a staff witch with dark curly hair tossed up in a messy bun with quills securing it and glasses that slipped down her nose approached the podium. “Erm…welcome,” she said, pushing her glasses back up. She reached into the pocket of the spring green and white striped apron tied around her waist, and got out a crumpled piece of parchment, which she unfolded. “Flourish and Blott’s is pleased to bring you the third in a series of monthly meet-the-author gatherings of this year.” 

The witch’s eyes flicked back and forth across the parchment and she used zero intonation, apparently determined to get through the introduction and then far away from any sort of career in public speaking, even a short one like this. “And so, with no further ado, Flourish and Blott’s presents Mr. Apollo Lovegood, to…er… _present_ his book, _Circle Geomancy: A Treatise on Nature’s Perfect Shape._ ” Her eyes now drifted up to the assembled witches and wizards before returning to the card. She only just then seemed to realize that she had finished because she gave a start, pushed her glasses up once more and moved out of the way.

“Thank you, Imogene,” came a kindly voice as Apollo Lovegood took the lectern. He was of middle height, with brown hair sprinkled through with some salt, intelligent hazel eyes with a fine network of lines in the corners, and an expression of goodwill at being able to present his work, yet devoid of arrogance. Put simply, he looked approachable and genuinely happy to be there. He wore navy blue robes with circles of different sizes embroidered in gold thread. It was overly dandyish to Lucius’ mind, but appropriate given the subject matter, even if it was patently on-the-nose.

Apollo patted his chest down, his brows drawn together until he found what he was looking for in an inner pocket. He whipped out a pair of round spectacles and donned them before unfolding a sheaf of parchment on the podium. Lucius could see it out of the corner of his eye, that large sections were crossed out, re-written, annotated and amended in different colored inks. _Robena would have a fit if I submitted even a shopping list that looked like that,_ Lucius thought. 

“Circles are everywhere,” Apollo began. “They are one of the most prominent shapes in nature, starting with the earth herself, echoed in the heavens above, the sun, the moon…Because they are so prevalent in nature, wizardkind also relies on them for thousands of uses: the ritual circle, the cauldron, even in our sport of Quidditch.” Apollo drew his wand and cast a circle shape, a ring maybe four feet in diameter, gold and glowing. The circle detached from his wand to float lazily over the podium and semi-circle of chairs. Apollo looked at the circle in wonder for a moment before turning more serious, stowing his wand, and looking back at the assembled group. “But the circle is not only a prominent shape, but one of the most powerful. The circle also has been associated with _anima_ or the female form of magical power.” 

At the word _anima_ Lucius ears pricked up. He didn’t know much about it, only that his father had cryptically associated this sort of power with the Venus Line that ran out from Malfoy Manor towards the Fell Circle. 

“Life begins in the circle of the egg, the circle of the womb, even the circle of the Gate of Life.” At this, he smiled almost sheepishly, as if he had said something shocking and, sure enough, Lucius saw Hector blush and cough into his closed fist. Lucius didn’t know what any of this meant, but it didn’t really matter as Apollo continued. “The point is that the circle is an abstraction for beginnings, where all possibilities are infinite.” 

Lucius leaned forward. Indeed, Apollo trod a similar path to the one Lucius had found unwinding in _Fauna Esoterica,_ about zero and circles and infinite possibilities. Still, he wished that someone would turn any of this into something actionable he could use to achieve his goal. Lucius had already had his fill of abstractions. The philosophers of the world could gorge themselves on nebulous theorizing; Lucius just wanted his damned hunting gear already. _Patience,_ he counseled himself, sighing almost inaudibly. 

Unfortunately for Lucius, Apollo appeared the sort of wizard that thrived on analysis and synthesis and so Lucius got nowhere, at least not in the following 25 minutes or so, in which Apollo outlined his book. Despite the meandering subject material, like the Malfoys who had come before him, determination was an attribute indivisible from Lucius’ very core, so he wasn’t going to give up so easily. Finally the lecture came to an end. Lucius stood and he and Hector waited while everyone else who wanted to speak with Apollo had an opportunity to do so. 

When the last of the wizards and witches departed, Hector took Lucius up to the podium, where Apollo gathered his notes and a heavily bookmarked copy of _Circle Geomancy_ so overstuffed with bits of parchment that only the multitude of many-colored rubber bands encircling it held it together. Apollo saw Hector and smiled. “Hector Giovane, look at you, back from Tuscany and brown as a garden gnome with all of that generous Italian sunshine.” 

Hector clasped Apollo’s hand. “At least I brought some of it back, eh?”

Lucius refrained from rolling his eyes at Hector so blatantly stealing his own bit of small talk and his subsequent inability to come up with something original. 

Hector turned to Lucius. “Apollo, there’s someone I’d like you to meet; this young man is Lucius.” His eyes flicked to Lucius and then back to Apollo. “Malfoy.”

Apollo’s brows went up a few millimeters and his eyes widened. “Oh!” Although his face did not convey the covert hostility of Casimir’s, it had become guarded as if he had just noticed a pit while walking that he did not want to fall in. He recovered quickly and gracefully, however. “Pleasure to meet you, Lucius,” he said, shaking his hand. “I hope you didn’t find my lecture too dull.” Apollo leaned in and lowered his voice conspiratorially. “My son Xeno can’t stay awake when I start talking about circle geomancy and sometimes I can’t blame him.” 

Lucius smiled. “Not at all, sir. Surely in your research you must have noticed some similarities between the circle and the number zero. Tell me, if you would, how has arithmancy influenced your work?” Lucius didn’t give a pixie’s fart about the answer to this question, but was gratified to see Apollo’s eyebrows fly up at this and his mouth open in, well, a circle of surprise. 

“Goodness,” Apollo said, somewhat breathlessly. “No wonder you weren’t bored! Such a marvelous leap of the mind, and in one so young!” He turned his attention to Hector. “I can see now why you were so keen for me to meet this boy.” 

To Lucius’ annoyance, Hector looked at his shoes and blushed once more, as if he could somehow take credit for Lucius’ quick mind. _When it’s so clearly the influence of Miss March and her predecessors._ The thought had come from nowhere and surprised Lucius in its clarity and truth, even though he would never give it voice. He looked around without moving his head. _Where is she, anyway?_ he wondered, now with some concern. 

At that moment, something strange happened, something that Lucius could only describe as a twitch or a subtle lurch in reality. Suddenly everything and everyone shifted just a few inches and just as Lucius thought he might have imagined it, Robena appeared behind him as if she had Apparated. Lucius kept the surprise off of his face as best he could, but he knew that something out of the ordinary, even for magic users, had happened. He looked at Robena with some suspicion, but she shook her head very slightly and Lucius brought his face back to polite interest and returned his attention to Apollo and Hector, who continued to talk. 

“…should be back any moment now—ah, there he is,” Apollo said, looking past Lucius’ left shoulder. 

Lucius turned. A boy roughly Lucius’ age came through the door. He was maybe an inch or two shorter than Lucius, with a mop of straw-colored hair and large, ingenuous blue eyes. He was panting and his face was flushed. “Papa…” he said, leaning over and placing a hand on his thigh to catch his breath. “New…Peregrine 740…Quality Quidditch Supplies…just…released today…” He took his hand off of his leg now and gestured in the direction of the alley. “Have…to…go see.” 

Lucius raised an eyebrow. “As it happens, I’m in the market for a new broom,” he said, examining his fingernails. 

The Lovegoods exchanged glances before the new boy, who Lucius could only surmise was Xeno, looked at him. “You’re not going to buy the Peregrine, surely…” he said, wonder in his voice. 

Lucius shrugged with great nonchalance. “Only if it pleases me." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Robena almost swallow her own tongue trying not to laugh and he glared at her for the briefest of instants. In response she shrugged at Lucius with a _do-as-you-please_ demeanor. Lucius knew he was laying it on pretty thick, but not only was doing so immensely diverting, he could always pull it back if he decided that he liked Xeno. 

Xeno looked at his father hopefully. In response, Apollo took him by the shoulders. “Oh, _go,_ for Merlin’s sake. Go enjoy yourself! I can follow in a bit.” 

Xeno’s face lit up. “Thank you, Papa!” he said, as excited as a boy half his age would have been. 

Lucius took one extra moment to make introductions between Robena and the rest of the assembly before striding out the door and back to Quality Quidditch Supplies. On the way there, Xeno talked nonstop about broomsticks, about how he _had a Silver Arrow 3.4, but I’m starting to outgrow it and that it’s slow, but reliable, but I might wait a year to see if Rinneault’s, who makes the Arrow series, is going to make public the Javelin series, or if it’s going to remain a prototype, which it currently is, as they simply haven’t perfected the turning magi-physic spell yet and until they do, the Arrow series is still better and besides I’ll probably grow a bit by then anyway and then I’ll be starting at Hogwarts and…_

After the silence and gloom of winter at Malfoy Manor, Lucius found Xeno’s constant stream of babble a bit much, and yet strangely still welcomed it. With a pang, Lucius realized that he had been severely starved for company of his own age all season. His few brushes with the Black children of both branches and some of the other pureblood heirs had been few and far between. Also, Lucius realized that any of his interactions with them could never be completely unguarded; with pureblood families, every utterance and glance was calculated and judged, in that timeless and intricate etiquette game that Abraxas had described. Granted, it was a game whose rules Lucius was starting not just to understand, but to bend to his will with some dexterity. He liked the competition, true enough, but it was nothing he’d call relaxing. 

In contrast, Xeno’s unceasing prattle about broomsticks was just the opposite, unguarded and asking for nothing in return except a receptive participant. He grinned without hesitation, peppering Lucius with questions about his own broomstick, a Comet 216. At this, Xeno’s eyes widened. “You have a _Comet 216_ and you want to replace it?” He pushed his hair out of his face with both hands, leaving them on the side of his head as he said this. Then he actually stopped walking. “Are you even tall enough for a Comet 216?”

“I’m 3.3 cubits tall, and _my_ Comet 216 was customized to 7/8ths scale for me,” Lucius said coolly. “Besides, I’ve grown since last year.” He paused, enjoying his new acquaintance’s admiration. “So the short answer is yes, if I find a replacement that’s to my liking.” Lucius didn’t wait for any further reaction, just turned from Xeno and continued down the street. Robena followed a short distance behind them and when Lucius turned around, Robena maintained a look of wry amusement. Lucius smiled at her in return when Xeno wasn’t paying attention, before bringing his expression back to one of haughty detachment. 

Once in Quality Quidditch Supplies, Xeno showed Lucius the Peregrine 740 and even Lucius couldn’t hide his awe. It was more streamlined than his Comet 216, and even in just holding his hand over the polished hawthorn handle, Lucius could feel the barely-restrained power thrumming beneath. One confident request to the owner later and the Peregrine 740 was in Lucius’ hands ( _even though we don’t typically let underage wizards test-drive the brooms, we could of course make an exception, Master Malfoy_ ). Lucius tripped lightly down the stairs to the basement of the store, which had permanently been enchanted with an Undetectable Extension Charm to create a space for test-flying. 

The space had three Quidditch hoops and a couple of Quaffles, along with a sign that read _Snitches available upon request._ Without hesitation, Lucius mounted the Peregrine and kicked off, flying off towards the hoops. He wove in and out between them, testing the broom’s turning response, acceleration, and finally braking, but mostly just feeling the ecstasy of flying, particularly as this was his first foray onto any broomstick this year, and a top-of-the-line one to boot. Robena stood below, calling to him to be careful, but he always was. Lucius was a good flyer, better than most for having had the best broomsticks since his toy one at four years old, and some of the best flying-masters to train him each summer as well. 

Xeno just looked up at him with approval, not even jealousy, just a sort of vicarious joy at his new friend flying what he considered to be the ultimate broomstick. Lucius took one more serpentine path through the hoops and then swept back down to the ground, landing gracefully. With one smooth move, he dismounted, tossed the broomstick to the arena attendant, and said, “I’ll take it. Put it on my father’s account, have it personalized with my full name, and deliver it to Malfoy Manor within the fortnight.” 

“Of course,” the attendant said. 

Lucius took the stairs two at a time back up to the main floor, Xeno and Robena in his wake. At the top, Lucius saw that Apollo had joined them. While Lucius put his outdoor cloak back on, he saw Xeno and Apollo engage in a whispered conference, both of their eyes on him. After a moment, Xeno approached Lucius shyly. “Papa and I were wondering if you might call on us sometime?”

Lucius nodded gravely. “I’d be honored. Shall I bring my new broomstick?” 

Xeno’s eyes lit up once more. “Please." 

Apollo shook Lucius’ hand once more. “I’ll send an owl and we’ll make arrangements. It was great to meet you, Lucius.”

“You as well, sir,” Lucius answered. The Lovegoods waved at Lucius and Robena as they exited. Once out the door, Lucius allowed himself a small smile of victory. He was in.


	19. Ch. 48: Pax; Ch. 49: Dinner; Ch. 50: Intrusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the Coterie of Oberon's purity ritual, Abraxas extends an invitation to Druella and Cygnus to dine at Malfoy Manor in an attempt to clear the air. Once at Malfoy Manor, to Cygnus' immense frustration, Abraxas and Druella both make it clear in the pettiest possible ways that nothing is forgiven. Privately to Abraxas, Cygnus tells the truth about his beliefs regarding the direction the Coterie is taking. Lucius finds Druella and confesses what happened with the siren, as well as some of his suspicions regarding Abraxas and Robena.
> 
>  _Druella realized that Abraxas’ vulgar comment regarding her carnal appeal was his anger with her—hurt and fear too, although he’d sooner die than admit it—manifesting in his lashing out to get a rise out of her._ Which he did, _Druella thought darkly, although she still felt no trace of remorse about that. There weren’t enough smart witches in the world to slap sense into Abraxas Malfoy._

FORTY-EIGHT: PAX

After Imbolc, Druella found herself in a rather introspective mood much of the time. She was annoyed at Abraxas’ behavior towards her of course, and towards Jade Black as well, come to think of it, but could hardly say she was surprised. Druella realized that Abraxas’ vulgar comment regarding her own carnal appeal was his anger with her—hurt and fear too, although he’d sooner die than admit it—manifesting in his lashing out to get a rise out of her. _Which he did,_ Druella thought darkly, although she still felt no trace of remorse about that. There weren’t enough smart witches in the world to slap sense into Abraxas Malfoy. 

Druella sat in Blackwood Hall, assisting her house elves and her daughters in cleaning out closets, getting rid of or handing down outgrown garments and taking inventory of what needed replacing. Bellatrix was home on a short school break and so the bickering was of course more frequent and explosive. However, even though the girls argued through the lot of it, for some reason it bothered Druella less than it might normally. Perhaps it was because she was miles away in her mind, as she often was these days, thinking about the night she had infiltrated the Coterie of Oberon with mixed results.

“It’s my glove, ‘Cissy, give it back,” Bella was yelling at her younger sister.

“It’s not. Yours are the dove gray ones and these are clearly ecru. Right, mother?” 

Druella looked at the gloves in question dispassionately. She then turned to the open armoire next to her. It was overflowing with gowns, skirts, cloaks, gloves, and other accessories. Druella fished around for a moment and found a pair of slate-colored gloves. “These, Bella?” she asked wearily, holding them up.

Bella bit the inside of her cheek, as she always did when she was caught in error. “Well—these others do look just like mine,” she muttered, snatching the ones in her mother’s hand. Druella sighed. It was as close to an apology as they were likely to get from Bellatrix. Narcissa and Andromeda exchanged an exasperated look behind Bellatrix’ back as she flounced to her room with her own gloves. 

Deftly dodging Bellatrix, Mimsy the house elf approached the door with an envelope on a silver tray. She presented it to Druella with a bow. Druella took the envelope and turned it over, her lips pursing at the embossed _M_ sealing the red wax that concealed the contents within. It was the first official missive from the Malfoys after the debacle of Imbolc and Druella had no assurance in believing that it contained an olive branch, given how she had left things with Imbolc. 

“What is it, mother?” Andromeda asked, coming over to Druella and attempting to peer around her at the letter, her light brown ringlets coming over one shoulder. 

Druella pulled the invitation out of reach. “Something I intend to open in private." Druella pointed her finger and tapped Andromeda’s upturned nose affectionately. 

“Is it from the Malfoys?” Narcissa asked, now approaching as well as she folded a ruffled white nightgown that Mimsy had recently mended for her.

“Yes.” There was no point in hiding that at least. 

“Oh, goody,” Andromeda said, rolling her eyes. 

Narcissa said nothing, just looked at the floor, a red flush creeping up her neck. “I’d like to play their piano again,” she mumbled, pushing a cashmere scarf around the carpet with her toe. 

Druella looked at her. “Pick that scarf up please, don’t just kick at it.” Narcissa placed the nightgown to the side and picked the scarf up before she drew it slowly through her fingers, her eyes dreamy. “Besides, what’s wrong with our piano?” 

Narcissa looked at Druella with some hurt in her hazel eyes. “Nothing, mother,” she said, “but that piano—the Malfoys,’ I mean--was made especially for Lucius’ mother Laila, and she never got to play it before she died. Don’t you think that’s sad?” She sighed in rapture, clutching the scarf to her thin chest. “And so very romantic…” 

Druella frowned. “Who told you all of that? Surely not Lucius…”

“No, Mr. Malfoy told me that at the Solstice party, mother.” Narcissa smiled shyly. “But he said I could play it whenever I wanted to and that even Lucius doesn’t get to play it.”

Druella tried to keep the surprise off of her face. There were forces at work here far older and more powerful than Narcissa’s nine-year-old self and her uncomplicated grasp on the situation. Nonetheless, Druella felt touched in spite of herself that Abraxas had extended such an invitation to Narcissa of all people. Perhaps something about her reminded Abraxas of Laila, engendering a tender side of Abraxas that Druella had thought dead and buried right alongside Laila herself. “Well…have a care.” Druella finally found her voice. “Flaunting such a privilege in Lucius’ face may very well draw his resentment.”

Narcissa looked down again. “I don’t think he’d even notice.” Her dark, straight hair falling around her face.

Druella looked at Andromeda, who watched the exchange like a Quidditch match. “It’s true, mother: Lucius ignores her completely.” Andromeda said it in the artless manner of all siblings, without malice, but also with little care as to whether or not she hurt Narcissa’s feelings.

By this point, Bellatrix had come back in. “Lucius who?” she asked, wrinkling her nose. 

Andromeda looked at Bellatrix, smiling. “Come now, Bella, how many Luciuses do we know?” 

Bellatrix rewarded Andromeda with a withering glance. “I wasn’t in earnest, you ninny. Of course I know who you were talking about.”

“Then why did you ask—“

“I was simply wondering why anyone would _bother_ talking about him at all…” Bellatrix concluded with an airy wave of one hand. 

“Girls.” Druella injected a warning note into her voice. “Finish here and then you may do as you please, but I do expect a comprehensive, neatly quilled, organized list of those items that you need— _need,_ mind you, not _want_ \--so that we may acquire them next time we pay a visit to Diagon Alley.” With that, Druella turned on her heel and marched out, holding the still-sealed letter, a volley of bickering in her wake.

“ _Narcissa_ would bother talking about him…”

“I’m just the most polite to Lucius, is all…”

“Yes, because you loooooove him…”

“Do not.”

“Do so. You love him and want to have a million of his little Malfoy babies.”

“I do not.”

“Do so.”

“Do not.”

Druella shook her head. She took the letter to the small sun porch, recently cleaned out for spring by the house elves and stocked with a variety of plants both mundane and fantastic. With the sunshine warming the room, it was one of Druella’s favorite retreats from spring to fall. She sat in a cushioned wicker chaise and summoned a house elf for a cup of tea. When the tea arrived, Druella took a sip and let out a sigh of satisfaction before turning her attention to the letter.

This time Abraxas had addressed it to _Mr. and Mrs. Cygnus Black_. Druella broke the seal and took out the envelope’s contents: a single piece of parchment with but a few lines on it:

_Dear Cygnus and Druella,_

_It is my belief that enough time has passed for overheated tempers to cool and words said in haste perhaps to be regretted or even rescinded._ Druella huffed at Abraxas’ cowardly use of the passive voice. “On whose side though?” she grumbled. She continued to read. _We share too long a history to let bad blood fester between us. Moreover, I believe I speak for all when I say it is in everyone’s best interest to keep our alliance strong. With this in mind, please join me Saturday next, March 21, at seven o’clock for dinner._

_Yours respectfully,_

_Abraxas Perseus Malfoy_

Druella folded the letter up into quarters and tapped the corner of her lip with it, deep in thought. _What does the wiley old lecher want?_ Druella wondered. The contents of the letter proved that he wanted to talk about what happened the night of Imbolc, but on his own terms, and certainly on his own turf. Druella summoned the house elf back once more. “Fetch Mr. Black and ask him to attend me at his leisure,” she ordered. The house elf bowed and Disapparated.

Druella sat and drank her tea, feeling the healthy green energy of the live plants around her, all while the spring sun warmed her face. It was still plenty cold outside, but the giant panes of glass lining the walls and ceiling created a cozy spot, even without magic. She leaned back on the cushions of the chaise and closed her eyes. She had just started dozing off when she heard Cygnus’ footfalls.

“You requested me, madame?” he asked, coming in and settling heavily in the chair opposite her, making the wicker creak. 

Druella blinked a few times and then appraised him. Cygnus had been jovial with her, extremely so since apparently closing the deal with Adrien, but still distant, as if avoiding her at best, fearing her at worst. They certainly hadn’t discussed what happened at Imbolc, even though Druella had wished to. However, every time she brought it up, Cygnus conveniently found some excuse to busy himself and side-step the conversation completely. _Well, he can avoid it no longer,_ Druella thought with some satisfaction, handing Cygnus the letter.

Cygnus leaned forward and took the letter from her, before unfolding it and scanning it quickly. Any semblance of good humor slipped off of his face as he read until he looked positively pale and ill-at-ease. “Well, this can’t be good,” he finally said, folding the letter and placing it in a breast pocket of his robes. 

Druella tucked her legs underneath her and propped her head on her hand, her elbow over the arm of the chaise. “That remains to be seen, now doesn’t it? Cygnus, you know you can’t avoid this forever. You can’t just ignore it and hope it goes away. Like it as not, you’ve broken the rules—“

“At _your_ insistence,” Cygnus cut her off hotly.

“Let me finish. I’ve been thinking quite a bit about that night; I’ve considered it from every angle, from every possible point of view and I’ve come to the only plausible explanation of your behavior.”

“You-- _we_ …made a…er…a deal.” Cygnus tugged at his collar.

“Yes, yes,” Druella opened her fingers in an impatient gesture. “But that’s not enough to explain your decision to actually go along with it.” 

Cygnus grunted. “You don’t know Adrien.” 

“Nor do I wish to,” Druella said. “Not in the way you mean, in any event. But it’s not that. The risk that you took was far too large to offset even _that_ sort of reward. The crux of the matter is that you wouldn’t have agreed to it if you hadn’t wanted me there and hadn’t wanted me to see what a Coterie ritual involves.” She narrowed her eyes at Cygnus. “And why in the name of Zarathustra did you not tell me there really _are_ women in the Coterie?” Cygnus looked down, finding sudden fascination in the different-hued flagstones on the floor. Druella pressed on. “After all this time, why? I mean, really, help me out Cygnus: it’s all so baffling to me—why lie to me about women in the Coterie and then agree to let me witness a ritual that you _knew_ would have a woman in it? And not just any woman, but your own sister?”

Cygnus looked up at Druella, an expression of pain in his eyes. “Because she’s not a woman, Druella, not really. In that circle, she’s no more than a—a cipher, a symbol…an…an _object._ ” He looked away once more. “It’s not a fate I should ever want for you or any other witch that I care for and respect. I shouldn’t even want it for Jade, but her not-insignificant will is her own…” 

Speechless, Druella sank back on the chaise as the full weight of what Cygnus was actually saying hit her. He had sought to protect her in all of this. Druella didn’t know whether to be flattered or furious.

Cygnus held up a hand. “But I thought that you finally _should_ see it. Only then would you see that you have no place in the Coterie, a witch such as yourself, mother of my three beautiful and strong daughters, who’s put up with my nonsense for all these years…you’d never _want_ that sort of treatment, and certainly would never deserve it.” 

Druella paused for a moment to gather herself before speaking once more. “Tell me truly Cygnus: do you believe women should have an equal role in the Coterie?” Cygnus’ confession of devotion and protection notwithstanding, that was truly the most important question. 

Cygnus sighed. “Yes, _I_ do, but…”

Druella smiled in vindication. “This, then, is the true reason you let me infiltrate the Coterie.” 

Cygnus turned red for a moment and coughed. “Well…the reasons I told you are still true, Ella, and it’s not as simple as you made it out to Abraxas that night. He is right that there is much you don’t understand about Coterie business. What you do need to know is that such a monumental change is not a matter of the Archon saying ‘make it so,’ and suddenly there are women in the Coterie, starting with you. The general body has to discuss and then put to a vote, one that Abraxas can’t even participate in, ironically. Well—“ Cygnus tilted his head in a conciliatory gesture. “That’s not true: he can cast a tie-breaking ballot as necessary. But he has less explicit influence than you might think.” He sighed once more. “And of course we’d have to come up with some completely new initiation if there were women in the Coterie because right _now_ the ritual involves…” He cut off with a look of alarm at saying too much.

“Candidly, I don’t think the world or the Coterie would suffer much if its members refrained from ravishing Abraxas’ pet siren,” Druella said with a sniff of disdain. 

“How do you know about that?” Cygnus narrowed his eyes.

“I just guessed based on something I heard,” Druella said, once again waving her fingers. “And something you just confirmed.” She smiled.

Cygnus scowled at her. “Abraxas is right; you are way too much trouble to be of use to the Coterie.”

“Oh, calm yourself.” Druella sat up. “But because you brought it up, not only would I refuse to take part in something so repulsive, even if I _could,_ my first act as a member of the Coterie would be to take a consecrated eight-pound maul and smash the siren’s statue into pieces so small even a Niffler couldn’t find them, freeing her spirit and vexing Abraxas at the same time. I’d call that a fair day’s work, wouldn’t you?” 

Cygnus tried to hide a smile but Druella caught it before a look of sternness chased it off of his face. “I don’t think Abraxas would thank you for that. He’d probably kill you where you stand.”

“For something so gratifying, I’d take my chances. Besides,” Druella swept a section of her dark, wavy hair out of her face with a practiced gesture. “I would just love to see him try.” 

FORTY-NINE: DINNER

The following Saturday, Druella and Cygnus Apparated to Malfoy Manor. As they made their way up the white crushed stone driveway, Druella wondered exactly what Abraxas had in mind. As the warm evening drew nigh, a fog had descended on the grounds, shrouding the fountains, the arborvitae, and the topiary in a miasma and turning all into vague shadows. The ambient air particles caught every tiny ray of light and scattered it, making the sources as unclear as the shapes. 

Once the Blacks passed over the threshold of Malfoy Manor, a house elf took their outer cloaks and led them into the grand dining room. A roaring fire blazed in the massive fireplace, its light warm and welcoming after the gloom and ambiguity of the fog outside. _It’s all calculated,_ Druella thought, _a ruse to make us feel at ease and drop our guard._ Nonetheless, Druella was not above chafing her hands in front of its considerable radiant heat. 

“Druella. Cygnus. Welcome.” Druella turned to see Abraxas enter, looking as he always did, polished and formal in pressed black robes. He greeted Cygnus first, clasping first hands and then elbows, in the traditional secret handshake of the Coterie. Druella noted with some exasperation that Cygnus looked relieved at seeing Abraxas, as if he truly believed that all had been forgiven. Druella knew better, reading the non-verbal cues that Abraxas was giving off loudly, the timbre of his voice, the tension in his shoulders, and the tightness in his mouth: all revealed that naught had changed. Abraxas had forgiven nothing. 

Abraxas now moved on to Druella. Fixing her with a cold stare, he took her hand. _Well, if truly nothing has changed…_ Druella thought with some spite. Before Abraxas could draw her hand to his lips, Druella gripped his hand hard, brought it in and clasped his elbow, maintaining his look with an icy smile of her own as she expertly duplicated the Coterie secret handshake. Druella was gratified to see Abraxas’ composure slip for a heartbeat with the widening of his eyes. As Druella had expected, Abraxas did not return the greeting, just dropped her hand and minutely shook his head. To her side, Druella heard Cygnus give a barely perceptible exhalation of disapproval. _That’s one for me, zero for Abraxas,_ Druella thought gleefully.

“Shall we?” Abraxas gestured to the table, which was set informally for three, with Abraxas at the head, Cygnus to his right, and Druella to the other side of Cygnus, two down from the head of the table, when any pureblooded child would know that she should be on Abraxas’ left. It was a deliberate slight, and Druella felt her mouth tighten. _And that’s one for Abraxas,_ she thought. Abraxas caught her eye and smirked, increasing Druella’s annoyance with him. _Well, he’s not going to get to me that easily._

Cygnus and Abraxas went to sit down. “How are your parents?” Abraxas asked Cygnus as Cygnus pulled out Druella’s chair for her. 

“Quite well, thank you for asking.” Cygnus took his own seat. “Why just last week…” 

As Cygnus launched into his story, Druella surreptitiously drew her wand. “ _Wingardium Leviosa,”_ she cast, pointing her wand at her place setting. She directed everything, plate, silver, glasses, napkin, over to the left-handed place that should have been hers before setting it down gently. Wand still drawn, she walked behind Abraxas’ chair, pulled her new chair out and sat down, all while maintaining a serene countenance. 

“What are you doing?” Abraxas asked, his voice light but with the slightest undercurrent of malice. 

“Yes, what _are_ you doing Ella?” Cygnus echoed, his tone lower and far more deliberate. 

Druella kept her wand out for half a heartbeat before stowing it once again. “Oh, you’ll think it no more than a silly affectation, I’m sure,” she answered. “The hearing in my left ear is just a shade less acute than my right. I find if I sit on that side, and particularly so _far_ from the head of the table, I might miss out on a lot of things, _important_ things that I certainly wouldn’t want to neglect.” She smiled sweetly. 

Druella was gratified to see Abraxas’ jaw tighten. _Two for me, one for him._ He returned her smile. “Well, I certainly wouldn’t blame you, nor would I stop you if you thought you should listen to and heed what I might say to you,” he said, his voice a touch less friendly. “Call me a traditionalist, but I have always been of a mind that women _should_ listen attentively when men speak. Wouldn’t you agree, Druella?” 

Druella didn’t let her smile waver in the slightest. “Well, that depends, Abraxas. Are you going to say anything worth listening to?” 

“You moved your place, not I, to one not originally intended for you,” Abraxas said, his voice soft. “You stated that you did it for the express purpose of being able to listen, so which is it to be? You can’t have it both ways, you know.” 

Everyone was silent for a moment as Druella and Abraxas stared each other down. Finally, Cygnus spoke. “So, in the end, my mother found my father’s Pepper-Up Potion _behind_ the Memory Elixir,” he said, forcing an uncomfortable laugh all while glaring at Druella as well.

Abraxas looked away first. “I imagine that must have been confusing,” he said to Cygnus, while drawing his own wand for dinner to be served.

“Well, it was most diverting in the end,” Cygnus said, relief flooding into his voice at the apparent break in the palpable tension. “Although they’re getting on in years, they make up for it in great spirit of mutual humor and loyalty.”

“Loyalty,” Druella repeated, stabbing at her steak tips slightly violently with her fork. 

“Yes, loyalty,” Cygnus said, smiling through clenched teeth. Druella heard a thump come from the under the table and saw Cygnus wince. She smirked at Cygnus for clearly forgetting that the Malfoy dining table was far too large in girth for him to reach her with his foot to give her a sharp kick in the shins. He had probably kicked the main table support instead and thus was suffering the consequences. 

“What on earth was that?” Druella asked innocently, before taking a sip of her wine and raising her eyebrows over the rim at Cygnus.

“Must have been a pixie,” Abraxas answered, either oblivious to Cygnus’ faux pas or feigning it. “This house is full of them.”

Druella shrugged. “It certainly makes a person wonder what else this house is hiding.” She took another sip of her wine and set it down.

Abraxas gave Cygnus a look as if Druella’s behavior was somehow his fault. In response, Cygnus gave his own resigned shrug as if to say _well, you invited her. What did you expect?_ For his part, Abraxas ignored Druella’s bait and made some more small talk with Cygnus. In fact, he did a masterful job of shutting Druella completely out of further dinner table talk for the remainder of the meal. _That’s two for Abraxas, I suppose,_ Druella thought as she picked at her pudding, excising the raisins one at a time with her spoon and putting them to the side of her plate. It was childish, but Druella didn’t care. She didn’t like raisins anyway and she had nothing else to do except mutilate her dessert and drink alcohol, which she also did in generous quantities. 

Druella was so focused on her task and had become so accustomed to Abraxas blocking her from the conversation that she didn’t hear at first that Abraxas was talking to her. “What?” she asked, looking at him.

“I thought you said your right ear was your good ear, Druella,” Abraxas said with a note of sarcasm. _And that’s three for him,_ Druella thought resignedly. “I said, shall we retire to the drawing room?” 

“By all means.” Druella stood. As they walked up the grand staircase to the second floor, Druella found she had to hold tight to the banister to fend off the dizziness threatening to consume her. She cursed inwardly, knowing that she had drunk too much at dinner. By the time they had reached the small drawing room, Druella had shaken it off somewhat. 

“Would you like something?” Abraxas offered, going to the sideboard. 

“Firewhiskey neat, please,” Cygnus said, settling in on the red brocade sofa facing the fireplace. This one was smaller, more intimate, with salamanders playing about in the flames, more than Druella was used to seeing. She studied the small red lizards that frolicked amongst the glowing orange logs, occasionally wrestling each other and falling into the embers, sending up showers of sparks, only to climb out again and run back up the smoldering wood. 

“For you, Druella?” Abraxas said.

Druella turned to Abraxas. “Nothing, thank you."

Abraxas poured Cygnus’ drink and then his own before coming back over. By then, Druella had sat on the opposite side. Abraxas handed Cygnus his drink and then went over to the fire, leaning against the mantelpiece and taking a sip of his own. “I suppose you’re wondering why I asked you here tonight.” 

“Oh, come now,” Cygnus said cheerily, “you needn’t any excuse to invite long-standing friends to join you for—“ 

Druella sighed with impatience. “You’re still in a strop about what happened at Imbolc, you want to tell me once and for all that my joining the Coterie is never going to happen and you wanted to do all of it on your own terms.”

Abraxas turned now and faced her. In profile to the fire, the orange light threw his face partially into shadow while making all of the planes stand out in sharp relief. “You know, Druella, I’m disappointed in you,” he said, a sad smile appearing on his face.

“And here I was making all of my decisions for your validation and approval,” Druella shot back.

Abraxas ignored this sally, turning serious. “For once I’m being sincere. I thought we had a meaningful conversation the night of your dinner party shortly before Imbolc and that we both understood and trusted each other in that moment. So, you can imagine my disappointment in finding you skulking about uninvited in my house and gate crashing a sacred ritual in what was supposed to be a secret society.”

“We _did_ have a meaningful conversation; in that you’re right,” Druella said, softening her affect for the first time that night. “But you forget that I’ve sworn you no oaths of fealty. You forget also that I am from as prominent a family as any other pureblood, and stand in equal footing with any of the wizards in that room magically. And yet the way to the Coterie is barred for no other reason than my sex. I still maintain that this exclusionary and arbitrary practice needs to change.”

“And I maintain that you went about your petition in such an underhanded, ethically questionable way that you damaged your cause more than you ever could have helped it.”

“What was I supposed to do? Ask you nicely?” Druella raised an eyebrow. “Besides, _you’re_ going to challenge me on ethics?”

“Is there some compelling reason that I should not? Tell me, Druella, what _did_ Francois Selwyn say when you confessed to stealing his likeness to force your way into the Coterie meeting? Surely you must have revealed to him what you did when all was said and done…”

Druella felt her face color and she looked down.

“Do you mean to tell me that you _didn’t_ confess your sins to him?” Abraxas asked in mock surprise. “But why not? Certainly not because you believed it to be far over the line, ethically.”

For a moment, no one spoke. A log in the fireplace cracked and fell, sending up a flurry of sparks and making the salamanders scatter.

“Well, what do you say we let bygones be bygones?” Cygnus asked, lifting his glass. “Call a truce? That’s the true reason you invited us over, isn’t it?” 

Abraxas turned his gaze to Cygnus now. “You’re hardly blameless in this, you know. If anything, your betrayal is even more egregious than your wife’s, as you _did_ swear the Oaths of Secrecy, Loyalty, and Support, and then unreservedly broke them.” Abraxas looked back into the fire. “We could have your wand or even your life for that, Cygnus,” he said quietly. “At the very least, you should be banished from the Coterie.”

Druella stood. “Don’t banish him, Abraxas. He only did it because I afforded him no other option.”

Abraxas faced her once more. “You…” He chuckled mirthlessly. “ _You_ don’t get to tell me what to do, not in this affair, nor in any other for that matter. Cygnus always had a choice and what’s more, he knows it. Yes, you used his sexual proclivities to manipulate him into getting what you wanted, and quite masterfully, I might add, but even Cygnus has to admit that it was his choice and his responsibility in the end. Isn’t that right, Cygnus?” Abraxas now looked past Druella to Cygnus, who sat on the sofa, nursing his Firewhiskey neat and looking like he’d rather be declawing dragons.

“Yes,” Cygnus finally replied. He too stood. “Truly, I wouldn’t have done it if I wasn’t prepared for the consequences. Next week, I shall confess all to the general assembly and throw myself on their mercy.” 

“No,” Druella said, taking Cygnus gently by the lapels of his robes. “This was my idea. The secret is contained, is it not?” She looked at Abraxas for confirmation. 

Abraxas looked as if he was about to give it, his expression heavy, before something lit in his eyes, something that Druella didn’t like one bit. “Why yes, it _is_ contained for the time being,” he said, a slow smile creeping onto his face, “and there is no reason it can’t stay that way if…”

“If…” Druella ventured, her heart already sinking

“If you withdraw any request to join the Coterie and swear to make no further attempt to join its ranks.” Abraxas smiled now in vindication. 

_Well, there’s about a thousand points for Abraxas,_ Druella now thought bleakly, dropping her hands. She was about to agree when Cygnus spoke up.

“No, that isn’t necessary.” He pulled his shoulders back. “I did it. I take responsibility for it, but you have to understand that I did it because I truly believe that the Coterie of Oberon should include women, starting with Druella.”

The smile evaporated instantly from Abraxas’ face. “And how long have you believed this?” he asked in that hushed voice that Druella understood to mean that he was barely restraining his fury.

“Since my own initiation,” Cygnus answered without hesitation. He took a drink, maintaining eye contact with Abraxas as he did so, but Druella still noticed a slight tremor in his hands. Well, it was no small wonder; Cygnus almost never stood up to anyone, least of all Abraxas Malfoy. 

“What?” That fury now came out in a snap.

“During the Silencing of the Siren, while taking my part as, you know…as a _man,_ I—“ Cygnus stopped talking. His eyes flicked to Druella with that same look of fear, as if he knew he was saying too much in the presence of one not initiated into the mysteries of the Coterie. He cleared his throat and looked back at Abraxas. “Perhaps we should discuss this at another time or at least in a different place.”

Abraxas drained his drink before setting the empty glass on the mantel. “Very well. We can step out for a moment if your wife can excuse us.”

Cygnus looked at Druella in entreaty. “Dear, can you please—“

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, _yes,_ ” Druella said impatiently, shooing at Cygnus with one hand. “Just go…go and sort this out.” 

Cygnus gave Druella a tiny smile before he and Abraxas stepped out of the room, leaving Druella to stare into the fire, where the salamanders continued their sport. 

FIFTY: INTRUSION

Abraxas had closed the door behind him, but must not have let it latch completely because it was still open an inch or two. Through the open door, Druella could still hear the two men’s voices, although soft and somewhat muffled. Without reservation, Druella got up quietly from the couch and tiptoed over to the door to eavesdrop.

Abraxas spoke first with pain in his voice. “Why did you not tell me of this before now? Why wait decades? I thought we trusted each other, Cygnus.”

“We do, we do…but lately I feel that the Coterie _has_ followed a trajectory down into little more than sexual exploitation, exhibitionism, voyeurism, and hazing.”

“So you agree with your wife?”

“Yes, I’m afraid I do. And I feel like you have listened to the general membership as well as the officers of the Coterie less and less as time has gone on. It seems that as of now, you are using the Coterie merely as a way to hold court and lord your position over other purebloods. I mean really, Abraxas, what in the name of Hades are we even _doing_ anymore?”

A pause. “Well, don’t hold back, Cygnus, tell me how you really feel.”

Druella could hear Cygnus sigh. “Abraxas, I love you like a brother, you know I do, and I’m not saying that Druella striking you was right, but someone had to take you down a peg or two. And I’m not the only one in the Coterie who thinks so.”

Another pause. “I see.”

“And I’m also not suggesting that sneaking Druella into the Coterie ritual was right either, but I needed you to see what would happen if a witch was there, melded into the Circle of Power, joining her potent _anima_ with the body public.”

“So you wanted me to see what would happen with a woman there participating in the ritual as a practicing _de facto_ Coterie member rather than a submissive role such as the Spirit of Purity…you’re saying also that someone had to ‘take me down a peg or two,’ but you didn’t want to be the one to do it…” Abraxas’ voice had slowed with the beginnings of understanding. When he spoke again, Druella could hear amusement and faint respect. “Cygnus, I can’t believe you…you _wanted_ Druella to get caught. It was you who orchestrated her running out of Polyjuice before the ritual was complete, likely picking her pocket like a common thief. It was you who then suggested to me that I check on how ‘Francois’ was getting on in Obliviating Jade, knowing that by then Druella would have changed back. Suddenly this all makes sense.” He fell silent for a moment, as if letting it all sink in. “And they say _I_ have a heart of ice.”

Druella felt a lightning bolt of shock shoot through her chest while Abraxas conjectured and her breath caught in her throat. _Cygnus sabotaged me?_ she thought, outraged, _Cygnus, who can’t say_ boo _to a bowtruckle, let me take the fall and do his dirty work?_ As betrayed as Druella felt, however, she had to admire Cygnus’ cunning and ingenuity. Besides, first off, that hypogriff had already flown and second, if his scheme ultimately got her into the Coterie, what did the means in how it was done matter? 

Cygnus coughed. “I never suggested any of that.”

“Please. Tell me I’m wrong.” 

There was another silence before Cygnus spoke again. “Look, just tell me if you actually checked the Venus Line as I suggested.” 

“Of course I did.”

“And?” 

Abraxas sighed. “It _was_ stronger, but I could also attribute that to Jade’s participation in the purity ritual and not to your wife’s being there. A temporarily strengthened Venus Line in this case proves nothing.” 

Cygnus returned Abraxas’ sigh with a frustrated one of his own. “Why are you so resistant to this, Abraxas? What is stopping you from—“

“Hello,” came a new voice, a younger voice, this one next to Druella in the drawing room, making her jump about a foot in the air. 

“Lucius,” Druella said, turning to the newcomer, her hand over her chest. “You startled me. Where did you come from?”

Lucius looked behind him at another open door, this one behind one of the bookshelves. “Over there. There’s a spare bedroom adjacent to this drawing room. No one ever uses it, though.” He turned back to Druella and smiled, but his eyes carried a knowing look and for a moment, Druella felt unaccountably guilty that he had caught her eavesdropping. _He’s almost as tall as I am now. Just a few more inches and he’ll be able to stare me down,_ Druella thought. Considering that she had nursed him what seemed like a few months ago, it was an unnerving observation. Lucius stepped around her and softly closed the door to the hall. “There. That’s more peaceful, wouldn’t you say?” 

“Lucius, what—“ Druella started, before taking a breath to regain her composure. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

Lucius sidled back over to the couch and flopped down. “It’s not even eight o’clock, Mrs. Black. Besides, I heard father and Mr. Black speaking in the hallway, but I knew that you were here also, and yet I didn’t hear your voice. It didn’t take me long to figure the rest of it out. And besides…” He leaned over and patted the other side of the couch, his blond hair falling over his forehead for a moment. “I didn’t want you to get lonely.”

Druella felt her own smile trying to make its way onto her face and fought it, going for nonchalance. “That’s…kind of you, Lucius,” she answered carefully, coming back over to the couch and sitting down. 

“Also, I might well ask you the same question,” Lucius said, his smile fading. “What were _you_ doing?”

Druella sat up straight. “I hardly need to explain myself to you.”

Lucius shrugged. “Perhaps not. I’m a child; that’s what you’re no doubt thinking, what could I possibly understand about grown-up things? Still…” he looked into the fire before his eyes found Druella’s again. “It _is_ my house and not yours, and you were spying on _my_ father.”

“Why, you impertinent little—“

Lucius held up a hand. “Of course it’s none of my affair. My father keeps many secrets, even from me. It doesn’t mean that I never hear things by accident, things that I’m sure he wouldn’t want me to know about.” 

Druella narrowed her eyes, wondering exactly what Lucius was getting at, and what he wanted from her. “Lucius, I know about the siren trapped in the statue,” she tried, even knowing it was a long shot, but she had to derail him from his accusatory disposition somehow. _If he has no knowledge of the siren, I can make something up,_ Druella justified to herself. _If he does, I might just get some more information about Abraxas’ little Dark Arts pet._

To Druella’s surprise, all the smugness drained from Lucius’ face. He slumped onto the couch, his hand drifting up to his neck, stroking a spot just over his collarbone with his fingertips. “It was unimaginably terrifying,” he said, his gaze far away, the orange glow of the fire reflected in his gray eyes. “I’m not sure if you have ever been subjected to a compulsion spell, but I learned very quickly that day why they’re unforgivable and illegal in our world.”

Druella stopped breathing for a moment; this was not at all what she was expecting. _Lucius had a brush with death._ That was what Abraxas had said to her the night of the Blacks’ party. He hadn’t elaborated, but Druella had assumed it was related to the normal behavior of any active boy. She would never have guessed over a thousand lifetimes that it had something to do with the siren. Druella mashed her lips together. She turned her body towards Lucius, letting her very real concern for his safety show on her face in a look of empathy and understanding. 

Lucius noted this and shifted as well. He sat with his legs crossed and leaned towards her. “I didn’t mean anything by it, waking her up. I mean, I’ve woken some of the others in the past, but never her.” 

_Others?_ Druella wondered. She continued to keep the shock over the situation on her face and nodded encouragement.

Lucius smiled, but his eyes remained distant. “I thought my blood would be enough to control her, but she quickly showed me just how far out of my depth was.”

“ ‘A brush with death;’ that was what your father told me.” Druella reached out and took Lucius’ hand. “Surely that must have been terrifying…”

Lucius looked down at Druella’s hand in his. “Yes, well…as dramatic as that sounds, Father was exaggerating nothing. Under the siren’s compulsion, I cut my own throat, nearly killing myself. I cannot put it in simpler terms than that.” His eyes found Druella’s once more and Druella felt chilled at the haunted look she found there. “I still dream about it, you know. In the dream, I’m bent over the leaves, her voice bending my fingers around the hilt of my own knife, my hand placing the blade to my own flesh.” Lucius looked into the fire once more. “And the blade…so cold…so sharp, just as it was that day. The difference is, in my dream, I finish the job, one neat, clean stroke and I can see my blood running over my hands, over the leaves, staining them red. I try and stop the bleeding, but I can’t. Just as in real life, I realize that this is it. I don’t want to die, but it doesn’t matter because my life is running out in every sense and it’s all my fault.” 

To Druella’s surprise, a tear started a course down Lucius’ face to swell on the angle of his jaw before splashing on his other hand. “In my dream, like a coward, I beg the siren for mercy, but she only laughs at me, her voice piercing my skull. And this time, my father’s not there to rescue me.” He dashed the tears away quickly with his free hand and looked back at Druella. “Only his quick action saved me, you know. I mean, in the real world. Well, that and Miss March.”

“How do you like her? Miss March, I mean?” Druella asked.

“She’s…” Lucius smiled shyly.

“It’s all right, Lucius, you can tell me.”

“She’s the best governess I’ve ever had.” 

The relief in Lucius’ voice was heartbreaking to Druella. “Well, what on earth is wrong with that?”

“She’s—I mean, she’s a Mudblood.”

Druella lowered her chin and gave Lucius the same look she gave her own daughters when they were being ridiculous. “Lucius. Are you going to marry her?”

Lucius laughed. “Of course not, Mrs. Black.”

“Then what could it possibly matter?”

Lucius turned serious once more. “Father doesn’t seem to like her much.”

“Well, she’s your governess, not his…” 

Lucius eyes widened as they darted to the door from which Druella had been eavesdropping. “I’m…a little worried about her.” He dropped his voice into a stage whisper. “I mean, I don’t know what’s happening, but she shows up to her lessons with bruises on her face. She says that it’s always some accident, but…” Lucius looked at Druella intently. “Father has taught me how to tell when someone is lying, particularly if they’re bad at it. Now, not only is Miss March lying to me, but lying badly. I can’t put it all together, but if this has something to do with father—“

“If what ‘has something to do with father?’” 

Lucius started guiltily at the sound of his father’s voice, dropping Druella’s hand. He stood up in one smooth motion, his demeanor immediately respectful and formal, like a Snitch changing direction mid-flight. “If Mrs. Black being left alone when she’s supposed to be a guest here at Malfoy Manor has something to do with you, father, then it’s my job as a Malfoy to make sure that her needs are attended to while she is here.” 

The lie was so quick and so glib that Druella almost bought it herself. _Abraxas certainly_ is _teaching Lucius a lot,_ she thought, _although he may come by some of it naturally. Either way, he’s going to be a force to be reckoned with as an adult._ Druella looked at him out of the corner of her eye. _If he survives that long,_

Abraxas paused for a moment, studying Lucius, who met his look with one of neutrality, his face open and humble. “Very well, Lucius. Consider your duties as my lieutenant well-discharged. You may go.” 

Druella stood, taking both of Lucius’ hands in hers. “Thank you for keeping me company, Lucius.” She kissed him on both cheeks. “It was sweet of you and you are a creditable host.” 

“Thank you, I’m sure, Mrs. Black. Have a good night.”

“You as well.” 

Lucius bowed to Cygnus. “Mr. Black.” He turned his gaze to Abraxas. “Good night, father.”

Abraxas afforded his son the merest head nod. “Lucius.” 

After Lucius left via the spare bedroom, closing the door behind him, Druella turned back to Cygnus and Abraxas. “Well?” she said, folding her arms.

“We’ve made a decision,” Abraxas said.

Druella rolled her eyes. “You don’t say.”

Cygnus spoke up. “Abraxas has agreed to keep your—well, _our_ \--ah… _indiscretions_ under wraps indefinitely pending your good behavior.”

"What on earth does that mean?”

Abraxas spoke up. “I shall guard your secrets, Druella, and we will put the idea of including women in the Coterie forth to the next consortium, which shall meet in May—“

“In _May?_ You won’t talk about this until May?”

Abraxas regarded her coldly. “Druella, you are on _very_ thin ice with me. In the past, you’ve made it clear that you don’t fear me, but in this case you may want to reconsider that stance. Be grateful that we’re willing to discuss it at all. Remember also that your husband’s fate with the Coterie hangs in the balance. If you cut me off again, show me disrespect in my house--or out of it, for that matter—or comport yourself in any other way that displeases me, I shall not hesitate to reveal to the Coterie all that I know and let the Gobstones fall where they may. Do I make myself clear?”

Druella clamped her mouth shut. “Yes,” she finally answered, her voice tight.

Abraxas smiled. “Excellent.”

Druella felt her teeth grinding together, but bit back every bit of profanity-laden retort that she wanted to launch at Abraxas. 

“I’ll summon a house elf to gather your outdoor things and show you out. It was good of you both to come.” Abraxas took Druella’s hand before she could protest and pressed the back of it to his lips, his blue eyes aglow with triumph. 

Cygnus smiled weakly. “Abraxas, old boy, I don’t suppose you would drop the wards so we can—“

“I don’t think so, Cygnus,” Abraxas said with a slow blink. “I believe that the walk in the fresh spring air would do your wife a world of good.” He clasped Cygnus hand and elbow in the Coterie handshake before drawing his wand to summon a house elf. “I bid you both good night.”

When they walked outside, the fog had only intensified and the temperature had dropped precipitously with the advancing night. It was now to the point that the only thing that Druella could see was the crushed white stone ten feet down the path. _The petty, smug bastard,_ she thought resentfully, shivering as the damp air particles seemed to seep straight through her satin-lined velvet cloak to cling dolefully to her skin. 

They finally made it to the wrought-iron gate, which opened for them under the watchful eye of one of the Malfoy white peacocks. After they had Apparated back to Blackwood Hall, Druella made her displeasure clear to Cygnus. “May?” she cried out again, after their own house elves had taken their wet things, built up a welcoming fire in their own drawing room and brought them both a cup of tea. “I hate-- _hate_ \--being beholden to _him,_ ” Druella's tea cup rattled in in its saucer as she took the handle, unstable in her hands due to both her wrath and the chill that had settled in her bones.

Cygnus grimaced. “I know it’s difficult, dear, but—“

“And how could you do it, Cygnus? How could you so callously allow me to get caught the night of Imbolc?” She pointed a finger at him over the rim of her teacup. “Abraxas was right about that, wasn’t he?”

“Well, what you have to understand about that is—“

“The both of you are unbelievable, you know that, making your little deals and conspiring behind my back.” Druella heard her own voice become increasingly shrill.

“That’s enough!” Cygnus exploded, his face red. He took a deep breath and set his own tea cup and saucer on the mantel with great deliberation and care before facing Druella once more. “Do you know why you hate Abraxas so much, Ella?”

Druella glanced to the side, where she noticed the room’s baseboard was scuffed: two parallel black lines traversed the ivory paint, likely due to the heedlessness of one of her children. Druella would have to get a house elf to fix that, perhaps tomorrow. She looked at Cygnus again. “I don’t _hate_ him, I just hate being under his wand. That’s for other people, not for me.”

Cygnus rewarded her with a flat stare. “You _do_ hate him because the two of you are exactly alike.”

Druella gasped. “How dare you suggest—“

“You both believe that the world ought to revolve around you and your plans and the _second_ it doesn’t, you throw a complete fit. Neither of you spare a thought for those who might not agree with you, or if you do, it’s only to trample them in your single-minded crusade. That very thing you hate the most about Abraxas Malfoy is the thing that defines both of you.”

Druella felt her jaw drop in shock. “Do you truly believe that?” she whispered.

“Yes, I do.” Cygnus scratched one of his mutton chops, while opening his other hand in a helpless gesture. He laughed ruefully. “I swear to Merlin, there are times I just want to hit your two heads together to see what sort of a sound they would make.” 

“I can’t believe that’s how you feel,” Druella said quietly, folding her hands in her lap. 

Cygnus came over to her. He knelt on the floor in front of her, taking his hands in hers and looking up at her. “But I also love you both and the most maddening part of all of this is that if the two of you _would_ work together, you’d be unstoppable. I have never met two more hard-headed, determined, resourceful, powerful people.” He sighed deeply. “That’s why I set it up for Abraxas to catch you that night. He needed to see for himself just how strong, ambitious, and fearless you are. And I believe in my heart that he did. Whether or not he swallows his pride over it or over you is another matter.” 

Cygnus squeezed Druella’s hands, encircling her cold ones with his warm ones. “Ella, I fought very hard for you tonight; please try and understand that and hear me. I know it’s a wrench for you to dance to Abraxas’ tune, but please, _please_ just do it for a little while longer…for me. Surely you can do that…please?” He turned her palms up now and kissed each one, his whiskers tickling Druella’s skin.

“Oh, all right,” she said with a brisk exhalation. “But you’d better be right about this.”

“I believe I am. Thank you, dear. You’re so good to me.” Cygnus dropped her hands, stood and kissed Druella once more, this time on the cheek. 

“Yes. Yes I am. Best you not forget it.”

That night, Druella lay in bed, watching the shadows from the trees outside her window dance across the ceiling. She was exhausted and yet found sleep elusive. The deeply disturbing conversation she had had with Lucius kept replaying in her mind. _I still dream about it, you know…my life is over…all my fault…_ Despite the horror Lucius had described, Druella was not naïve about the sort of wizard Abraxas was. She herself came from a family that had unabashedly practiced Dark Arts, but never to an extent that it had threatened the life of a child, particularly an heir. 

Druella turned on her side, finding a new cool spot on her white down pillow. _Despite what Cygnus believes,_ that’s _one huge difference between me and Abraxas,_ she thought, _the moment a Dark Arts artifact threatened one of my children, I would destroy it that instant._ Clearly the siren’s presence as something for Abraxas to control and use to his advantage was more important than Lucius’ very life. That level of selfishness on Abraxas’ part was unforgivable as far as Druella was concerned. She felt her eyelids growing heavy. _One more reason for the siren to go,_ she thought as she finally drifted off to sleep.


	20. Ch. 51: Oath; Ch. 52: The Lovegoods; Ch. 53: Pi

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius' suspicions of Abraxas and Robena grow and he finally confronts her about them. In response, she makes Lucius swear a vow not to pry further for his own safety. Lucius agrees with misgivings, but not before building himself a loophole so he can find out the truth. Robena and Lucius attend tea at the Lovegoods' house, where Lucius finds what might be the key to catching the demiguise. 
> 
> _Robena drew a sigh that seemed pulled from the very depths of her being. “Lucius, if you care for me—“_
> 
> _“I do, Miss March, I really do—“_
> 
> _“If you care for me_ at all _, you will drop this immediately and promise me with your strongest oath that you will not dig, or pry, or spy, or do what it is I_ know _you do to try and uncover any more about this.”_

FIFTY-ONE: OATH

“Who?” Abraxas asked, folding the _Daily Prophet_ down along its crease and frowning at Lucius. It was a morning a few weeks after Lucius’ and Robena’s foray into Diagon Alley. A fitful March had passed into a dulcet April, at least so far. Crocuses had given way to daffodils, and Lucius had received an owl that needed answering, and his father’s permission to address its contents with a favorable decision. 

Lucius suppressed a sigh. “Apollo Lovegood, father. He is an eminent wizard in the field of arithmancy and abstract magical theory.”

“And he’s taken an interest in Lucius, sir,” Robena piped up, “They met in Flourish and Blott’s some time ago and Mr. Lovegood was impressed by Lucius’ quick mind and disciplined learning.” Lucius had begged Robena to accompany him to ask his father’s permission to visit the Lovegoods in Ottery St. Catchpole. Robena had argued that her presence might actually harm his cause more than helping it, but Lucius felt certain that she was wrong, especially considering that she had witnessed a significant portion of the exchanges between the Lovegoods and himself. 

Abraxas looked back at his paper. “Indeed?” His lack of inflection clearly demonstrated what he thought of Robena’s opinion on the subject.

Now Lucius let the sigh out. Perhaps Robena had been right. “He also has a son about my age, and we got on quite well in Diagon Alley.”

Abraxas’ eyes drifted to the window. “Lovegood…” he said, his fingers stroking his lower lip. “I’m sure I don’t know the name.”

“Apollo’s mother was Adrianna Abbott and his wife was Ursula Travers,” Robena said. 

Abraxas turned back to Robena, the two Sacred 28 names having gotten his attention, which was no doubt Robena’s plan. “ ‘Was?’” 

Lucius had not known this bit of family trivia and felt impressed that Robena threw it out so casually. Lucius smiled, but hid it by ducking his head down. He knew he had brought her along for a reason. Robena folded her hands in front of her. “Ursula Travers died of Dragon Pox when Xeno was three. It’s been the two of them since.”

“Hmm,” Abraxas said, continuing to run his fingertips along his lower lip. 

“Lucius needs to spend time with some other children his age, particularly one with whom he has much in common.”

Lucius saw Abraxas jaw tighten at Robena’s proclamation. “Lucius, leave us.” 

Lucius gave Robena a look of concern. She returned it with a reassuring small smile. Lucius looked back at Abraxas. “Of course, father.” Lucius turned around and left his father’s office, closing the oak door behind him, but staying as close as possible. Lucius knew from experience that attempting to listen was a fool’s errand; whether through solid construction, magic, or both, that particular door was virtually soundproof aside from an unintelligible rumbling when someone was talking. 

Lucius stilled his breathing to a very slow ten-count, in and out through his nose, not unlike when he shot his bow. He closed his eyes and focused all of his senses on listening. What he did hear is his father’s lower timbre and Robena’s higher. Lucius felt his forehead crinkle in concentration, but knew better than to actually press his ear to the door. He had done that exactly one time, when he was about six years old. His father had opened the door and Lucius had fallen to the floor in an undignified and unquestionably red-handed heap. This embarrassment had earned Lucius a sound lashing, so he hadn’t dared do it since. 

Despite his efforts, all Lucius could hear was his father’s muffled tones, getting lower, which meant that he was reining in his rising temper and/or sanctioning Robena for something. Conversely, Robena’s voice was becoming more pressured, although Lucius could not make out the exact words. To his surprise, however, Robena’s voice built to a crescendo before Lucius heard a sharp sound and then Robena’s voice fell silent. 

Some instinct prompted Lucius to step back from the door. As he did, the door opened and Robena came out, a red mark darkening to a bruise on the left side of her face. Abraxas glanced at Lucius. “Very well, you may go, Lucius. But Miss March shall accompany you.” 

It was about what Lucius had expected, but Robena’s current state was of some concern. “Thank you, father,” Lucius said, leaving his face blank, before turning and walking down the hall, taking Robena firmly by the arm on his way.

When they were safely away from Abraxas’ office and Lucius was assured of their relative privacy, he dropped Robena’s arm. “ _Now_ what happened to your face?” 

Robena’s hand flew up and her eyes filled with fear before darting off to the side, down the stairs. “I…tripped.”

Lucius folded his arms. He was getting sick of this. His father had once said to him, _Lucius, it truly takes two people to breathe life into a lie: the liar and the fool that believes him._ Lucius decided that he was done playing the fool to Robena’s lies and decided right then and there to stop giving her any quarter. “You tripped last time,” he said, making his voice cold.

Robena looked at him. “What? What do you mean?”

“When you had an unexplained injury last time, you told me you tripped. My point, Miss March, is that you’ve already used that excuse.” He sneered. “You’ll have to work harder to come up with a new one. Not tripping, not a bloody hat box, but something new and hopefully more creative. If you need hints, I may be able to help you. As it happens, I’m an excellent liar, far better than you, despite my youth.” Lucius smiled. “Or perhaps because of it; people do have a tendency to believe me.” He shrugged expansively. “Although, considering that you’re trying to lie to _me,_ I suppose rendering my aid in this would rather defeat the purpose.”

Robena smiled bitterly. “ ‘Rather defeat the purpose,’” she repeated, although Lucius was unsure why. “And what might that be? If I am indeed lying to you, which is what you believe, why do you suppose I would do such a thing?”

“I don’t know!” Lucius said. He ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, Miss March. I have tried and tried to figure it out, but I just can’t.” _Or perhaps you do know exactly why and you don’t want to face the truth of it,_ a little voice in the bottom of Lucius’ mind whispered to him. 

“Good,” Robena retorted. 

“It’s tearing me up inside, if you must know,” Lucius said, his voice quiet now.

Robena clasped her hands onto Lucius’ upper arms. “Lucius, listen to me very carefully. You have to—look at me-- _have to_ \--let this go.” She shook him gently for emphasis with this. 

“But, Miss March, I really don’t see why I can’t know; I mean, if he’s—“

“ _Don’t,_ say it,” Robena hissed. “Don’t even think it. Just forget it. It’s nothing.”

“Nothing?! Do you not own a mirror?”

Robena drew a sigh that seemed pulled from the very depths of her being. “Lucius, if you care for me—“

“I do, Miss March, I really do—“

“If you care for me _at all_ , you will drop this immediately and promise me with your strongest oath that you will not dig, or pry, or spy, or do what it is I _know_ you do to try and uncover any more about this.” She looked into Lucius’ eyes, as if trying to will him to understand. “You have to leave this alone,” Robena said, dropping her voice an octave and making each word deliberate.

Lucius paused for a moment. “I’m worried about you, Miss March.”

Robena shook her head impatiently. “Thank you, but it’s not for you to worry about me, rather the opposite. Now, give me your strongest oath that you’ll drop this.” 

Lucius groaned, tipped his head back, closed his eyes and let his mouth hang open. It reminded him of what he used to do to Georgina when he was very small. She would call it _Spanish Moss,_ whatever that was, some Muggle plant apparently. In any event, it was Georgina’s phrase for when Lucius didn’t get his way and he would let his entire body completely relax, making himself flop in a boneless pile, usually when Georgina was trying to get him to go somewhere or do something innocuous like dress or tie his shoes and always when she somehow had a hold of him. No amount of cajoling and wrestling with Lucius would have the slightest effect; he would remain an unrepentant puddle of non-compliant goo until he got his way. _Merlin, what a brat I was,_ he thought with mild amusement at the recollection. 

“Your strongest oath.” Robena was unrelenting.

Lucius opened his eyes, knowing he wasn’t going to win this one. Glaring at Robena resentfully, he uttered the words he knew by heart: “I swear on the name of Malfoy that I will not pry further into your mysterious injuries. I swear on the purity of my blood, on the name of my father and his father before him, the sacred name of Malfoy. I swear on the Malfoy name. Three times spoken, three times binding. May the deepest pit of Hades rise up and claim me if I forswear myself.” 

Robena’s entire body seemed to sag in relief. She dropped his arms. “Thank you, Lucius. I know that was hard for you.” 

“Well,” Lucius said, looking back in the direction of his father’s office. “I hope I have no cause to regret it.”

“You and me both, Lucius. You and me both.” 

Lucius felt relief as well, but unlike Robena, he was careful not to let it show. While Robena seemed to have found satisfaction in Lucius’ sincere oath, he had purpose-built himself a loophole. All he had promised was not to pry into her mysterious injuries; he had made no vow against eavesdropping on his father and Robena, nor against his general gathering of information. Lucius still knew it prudent to lay low for the time being, but he had no intention of letting the matter drop. It had all the appearances of a full-blown war between his father and his governess and, as such, unquestionably Lucius’ business. Still, he had to ensure that Robena still suspected nothing. “Thank you for putting in a good word for my cause, Miss March,” he said, lightening his voice.

Robena shrugged. “I stand by my reasons, by _our_ reasons. Although Mr. Lovegood may seem a bit strange at first glance, from what I have read, he is on the bleeding edge of abstract magical theory. I mean, if his ideas have any practical application, he could profoundly advance the study of magic. You could learn much from a man like that, with your father’s blessing, of course. The corners of her mouth turned up slightly and she dropped her voice. “To that end, I may or may not have done a little genealogical research prior, to grease the wheels.”

“Ah, yes. Two Sacred 28 families: a most impressive lineage, _if_ it’s true.” Lucius grinned at Robena’s sudden expression of outrage. “You certainly know your audience,” he amended quickly. 

Robena laughed, but it seemed forced and strange. “You might say that, yes.” 

They were silent long enough for the moment to turn awkward. “Well, I had best answer Mr. Lovegood’s owl.” Lucius bowed his head slightly and departed before Robena could say anything else. 

As he walked down the steps of the main staircase, his footsteps echoing off of the columns and the dragon statues, Lucius felt sad more than anything else. Robena’s omissions and lies were doing little more than keeping him at a distance. While even Lucius could admit that she was doing it to protect them both, every time Robena lied to him, she drove the wedge between them slightly further. Even so, Lucius was used to being kept at arm’s length if his own father was any gauge. Abraxas had even said at one point, _Ours is a lonely existence, Lucius, best get used to it if you wish to keep yourself at the apex._ Lucius sometimes wondered if it had to be that way, or if that was merely Abraxas’ own experience talking. But Robena was different; in many ways she was closer to Lucius than Abraxas had ever been and as such, her distancing herself was painful. 

Lucius looked up at the dragon statues, feeling an echo of his fear of them. He knew that they weren’t real, and that his father had long ago made some attempt at reassurance to try and get Lucius to feel better about them. Lucius paused when he was almost all the way down the stairs, looking up at the statues as his fingers rested lightly on the smooth, cold marble of the banister. These were different than those of the Fell Circle. Where the statues within the Fell Circle were of pure white stone, the dragons were carved of different shades of veined marble, some black with gold veins, some green with gray veins, others buff with slate veins. They progressed from dark to light as one ascended in a pleasing and impressive ombre effect. 

Truly, Lucius did not appreciate the grandeur and genius of the design until now. The deliberation and craft of the staircase and its statuary was stunning and something Lucius had taken for granted his entire life. His father was right: these were _his_ dragons and Malfoy Manor was _his_ home. Lucius turned and looked up the stairs. So many Malfoys before him had walked up these stairs. So much pure blood and magical excellence had existed and thrived in this house, passed down and down from father to son for centuries, through the longest unbroken line to finally reside in Lucius himself. Like the artistry of the grand foyer, Lucius had not appreciated it until that moment, both the privilege and the responsibility. For a brief time, Lucius felt the almost palpable weight of it all descend on his chest and he had a hard time catching his breath as the hair on his arms stood up.

Just then, a sound from the very bottom of the stairs surprised Lucius and he whipped around, his fingers gripping the rail now. It was the demiguise, looking equally startled. The beast stood directly in the center of the circular sunburst compass inlaid into the floor directly under the crystal chandelier. Its head was cocked to the side, its great, golden-brown eyes looking at Lucius. 

His heart pounding, Lucius moved very slowly, not as if underwater, but as if he was wading in Drooble’s gum this time. He cleared his mind utterly, bringing to mind the flowers out in the woods. He started a mental exercise in which he cycled through the flowers of the spring and summer, starting with the snowdrops, and then the crocuses, all the way through to the asters of fall. He kept this up in an attempt not to picture what he would do next because he knew that once the creature’s eyes turned their otherworldly pre-cognitive blue, his chance would be over. 

Lucius now stood on the floor of the atrium, his toe just over the line of the circle that made the outside of the sunburst, over the _N_ that stood for north. The demiguise hadn’t moved, except to follow Lucius with its eyes. _Easy,_ Lucius warned himself. He kept his mind on the flowers and crouched down slowly, getting on the level of the creature, moving closer and closer, his movements still achingly slow. _Be patient,_ he thought. If he was careful, he could spring from a crouch and then tackle the demiguise to the ground. 

In that moment, the demiguise’s eyes turned blue and Lucius cursed, already knowing that he had blown it even before he pounced. He sprung forward anyway; what else was he to do? As he did, Lucius actually did grab just a few bits of fur before the demiguise disappeared and scampered down the hall in the other direction, knocking over an urn on its way. 

Lucius stood up and brushed himself off. He had an abrasion on his right elbow from scraping it along the floor as he dove for the demiguise. It would likely sport a sizable bruise by the following day. Lucius fumed. He was furious, but mostly with himself. Getting upset at the demiguise was ridiculous: it was simply abiding by its nature. Lucius would not expect anything more from any creature, or even most humans for that matter. 

Lucius looked at the tuft of demiguise fur he still had clamped between the thumb and second two digits of his right hand. The long, silky strands shimmered in the light to the point that sometimes Lucius could see his fingers under the strands, and sometimes the fibers seemed opaque. Lucius turned the bundle this way and that, fascinated. _Ten down, one trillion to go,_ he thought. With that in mind, he carried on with his mission of connecting with the person who could best him claim the rest of his prize. 

FIFTY-TWO: THE LOVEGOODS

It was another week before Lucius and Robena made it to the Lovegoods’ house on a fine spring day in mid-April, warm and with a slight breeze. After threatening her once more for good measure should Lucius return with a scratch on him, Abraxas had grudgingly agreed to let Robena Side-Along Lucius to Ottery St. Catchpole, as the Lovegood house was not near a node on the Floo Network. 

They Apparated without incident, although it was slightly cumbersome because Lucius was carrying two broomsticks: his old 7/8ths-scale Comet 216 and his brand-new Peregrine 740. Lucius had promised Xeno that he would bring the Peregrine. Bringing the Comet with the intention of giving it to Xeno, who was still small enough to fit it, was a last-minute decision. “Won’t your father be angry?” Robena had asked, her green eyes flicking to the varnished handle of the Comet.

Lucius smirked. “Don’t be ridiculous, Miss March. Not only will Father not care, he won’t even notice.” 

Robena kept giving it apprehensive looks as if it were a Blast-Ended Skrewt. Finally, Lucius lost his patience with her as they waited for Abraxas to drop the wards so Robena could Disapparate. “Would _you_ like to question Father about it?” Lucius demanded after Robena asked him once more if he was sure it would be all right. Lucius knew that his response was mean-spirited, but at that point, he didn’t care. Robena didn’t say anything, just gave Lucius a reproachful look. “I thought not,” he muttered.

When they Apparated onto the hill above the Lovegood’s house, the wind was strong enough that Lucius had to white-knuckle both brooms. “Do you want me to carry one of those?” Robena asked loudly as the wind whipped her auburn hair around her face.

“Yes, thank you,” Lucius said. Losing either broom to the gale-force winds would have been embarrassing to say the least and Lucius’ pride was not so lofty that he wouldn’t accept help. Robena reached into her pocket and removed a green ribbon. With a look of steely determination, she secured her copious hair into a low ponytail and then reached her hand out, palm up.

Without delay, Lucius handed Robena the Comet so he could grip the Peregrine with both hands. With the brooms in a safer configuration, they both could get their bearings. They stood on a hill above a great valley. The sun passing through the few clouds overhead made sunbeams chase each other across the valley floor and over the strange-looking house that Lucius assumed was the Lovegoods.’ 

It was dark gray in color and cylindrical, and yet tilted on a bias relative to the sun-splashed ground. Lucius canted his head to the side and studied it, taking in its shape, its size, and its context in the valley. Just then, the sun came out from behind a cloud, making the house cast a strong shadow on the ground. The moment it happened, Lucius smiled. He looked at Robena. “Do you see it?” he asked.

“The house?” Robena tried to stash her wand and not lose the Comet at the same time. “Yes. It’s the only one in the valley and thus difficult to miss, wouldn’t you say?”

Lucius rolled his eyes. “That’s one way to see it yes, the intellectually _lazy_ way…” He grinned. 

Robena frowned and then roughly mimicked Lucius’ posture, tilting her head. Her eyes lit. “It’s a sun dial.” She fixed Lucius with a deadpan stare. “Are we on time?”

Lucius did his best to look offended. “Of course we are, Miss March. One mustn’t be late on a first engagement, mustn’t one?”

Robena gestured with her free hand down a path worn in the grass. Down the hill behind them, where the path led in the other direction was a lively brook, its water sparkling in the abundant sunshine. The path was likely worn by at least Xeno; any child would not be able to resist such a tempting body of water. 

But Robena and Lucius went down the other side, towards the house. As they descended the hill, the wind lessened some, buffered to some extent by the bowl created by the surrounding hills. Lucius felt his shoulders relax somewhat at this; if it was too windy, going out on brooms would be ill-advised. About fifty feet from the front door, Lucius felt himself pass through the wards. It was like walking through a particularly robust soap bubble: there was a tension that built on the skin, found its apex and then suddenly dissipated. As soon as it did, the wind stilled completely. 

At this, Lucius stopped moving and looked around. There were a few apple trees in the yard, just starting to form buds that would bloom later, and none of these even stirred. Lucius looked beyond the wards from where he had just come, and the trees there were in near-constant motion. Still, something high up and silvery within the wards had caught Lucius’ attention. Atop the tall roof blew what looked like a windmill, its bright blades appearing as one circular blur, so fast was its motion. Lucius found this extraordinary, as the rest of the property reposed in complete tranquility.

“Would you like me to do the honors?” Robena gestured to the doorbell. 

“No, I think I can manage, thank you all the same.”

Robena put her free hand up in somewhat sarcastic deference and stepped to the side so Lucius could ring the doorbell. As he did so, he immediately flinched as the sound was similar to the one made when one evicted a Cornish pixie from a shoebox, a shrill and distorted shriek. A moment later, Xeno whipped the door open. “Oh good, you’re here,” he said, his voice breathy as if he had just raced down six flights of stairs. _Which isn’t entirely out of the question,_ Lucius thought, looking up at the tall, slanted wall of the house. “And you brought your broom, too,” Xeno concluded, his eyes lighting up. 

“Well, don’t just stand there, my boy, let our guests in,” came the steadier, but no less friendly voice of Apollo Lovegood. He came up behind Xeno and clasped him by the shoulders, steering him away from the door so Robena and Lucius could come in. As they stepped into what Lucius guessed was the foyer, a cramped and cluttered space with a cracked rubber boot tray and an umbrella stand that held two mismatched umbrellas and what looked like several maps and cartographer’s parchment, stained and sepia-toned. 

“Father, mightn’t we…” Xeno looked up at his father before his eyes hungrily found Lucius’ broom once more. 

“Oh, my boy, how you vex me…” Apollo growled good-naturedly, tousling Xeno’s fair mop of hair with one hand. “All good things come with patience. We must have tea first. Anything else would be discourteous.” He looked at Robena and Lucius. “Am I not correct?”

Lucius, who was starving, agreed quickly. “Yes, you are quite correct; delaying tea would be most uncivilized,” he agreed, inclining his head, but keeping a smile in his eyes, lest Xeno think he was uninterested in going out on brooms later. Apollo hurriedly cleared a spot between a pile of books and a dusty box full of gears and cranks for Lucius and Robena to stow the two brooms. 

They climbed the wrought-iron spiral staircase that connected each floor to the one above. Any spare wall space held a bookshelf. The shelves were constructed from a variety of materials, everything from conventional oak and maple to repurposed cauldron crates. Lucius looked at Robena out of the side of his eye, noting that her own eyes were bright with the spark of the book fanatic he knew dwelt firmly within her heart. 

They climbed four floors up to come out in a sort of combination kitchen and dining room, with a stove on one side and a small, battered table on the other, a book wedged under one of its legs, no doubt to steady it, plus four chairs. The table was set for tea, although Lucius noted with some amusement that none of the dishes matched. In fact, nothing in the house thus far seemed to match anything else. The entire affect was fascinating to Lucius, who had never occupied a house that didn’t have everything perfectly ordered and organized. 

With that in mind, Lucius also noted that he had not seen a single house elf. An expression came to Lucius’ mind, one coined in Sacred 28 social circles, that the Lovegoods had _besuited house-elves_. It was a less-than-kind way of saying that either their house elves were not very well trained and disciplined, or else they couldn’t afford them. Lucius assumed that the latter was true with the Lovegoods. Although Lucius may have grown up in a rather insular way, he also knew that house elves were a mark of refinement, and that not all wizarding families had them, and this was just the way of the world. Lucius squared his shoulders. He could be gracious regardless. Besides, the Lovegoods were so warm and hospitable that it made being gracious easy, even without the siren’s prophecy. _Don’t get too comfortable,_ Lucius warned himself. 

“Forgive me, sir,” Lucius began after they had sat and Apollo had poured out for all of them. “I couldn’t help but notice that while the wind was rather strong up on the crest of the hill, it is completely absent immediately around your house.”

Apollo beamed, helping himself to a scone. “Surely then you must have noticed the wind siphon on top of the house.”

Lucius gave him a small smile. “I knew not the name of it, sir, but I did notice _something_ moving on top of the house.”

“I’ll be happy to show it to you after our tea, if you’d like,” Apollo said. 

Xeno groaned and slid down in his chair. 

Apollo looked at him. “Right,” he said, ducking his head with a guilty look. “Broomsticks first. Xeno was fair bursting with excitement.” 

At this Xeno sat up. “I looked up your new broomstick in _Which Broomstick?_ before you got here, Lucius,” he said, as eager and big-eyed as a night-struck Mooncalf. 

“Did you now?” Lucius raised an eyebrow. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Robena stifle a grin with a checkered napkin, one that of course matched neither the tablecloth, which was beige with violets, nor the other napkins, which were by turns striped or various solid colors. “And what, pray tell, did you find out?” 

Xeno looked pleased at being able to show off his knowledge. “Well, it has anti-jinxing varnish…”

Lucius sighed slightly, through his nose. “Just like every modern broomstick ever,” he said without intonation. He took a sip of his tea, his back never touching his chair. 

“I was just getting started, though,” Xeno said, not at all put off by Lucius’ show of aloofness. “Acceleration-charmed to eliminate friction from the air, ultra-responsive tilt control, precision-magicked to the _individual user_ …” Xeno looked at Lucius with this last, his eyes brighter than ever.

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

Xeno’s shoulders fell a little, but his eyes still burned with excitement. “Don’t you see?” 

“Why don’t you explain, son?” Apollo put in kindly, before Lucius could say something caustic.

Xeno turned in his chair and leaned in to Lucius, his forearms on his knees as if he were about to reveal a big secret. “What that means is that every time you ride it, it learns your riding style better than the last time.” 

“I see. So it’s smart. Is that what you’re telling me?”

Xeno nodded vigorously. “Yes, exactly! It’s _smart._ No other broom has ever had that level of advancement.” His look turned from one of excitement to one of envy. Xeno paused for a moment and his brows drew down just a bit. “Have you…have you even ridden it? I mean, aside from that first time?”

“No,” Lucius said, more shortly than he had planned. The truth was, between the terrible weather, his strange encounter with Mrs. Black, and all of his mounting suspicions regarding Robena, he hadn’t even thought about it. Then again, Lucius had always had the best of broomsticks, so would probably never get as excited as Xeno was now about any broom. For a moment, Lucius felt his own stab of envy for Xeno. He shook it off quickly as he took another sip of tea from his faded, mismatched cup and looked around the cluttered and house-elf-neglected house. He forced a smile. “What I mean is, I’m looking forward to riding it today.”

Xeno beamed and turned back around to the table, helping himself to sandwiches. He shook his head. “I can’t _wait_ to see it out in the open, not in the basement of the shop, you know?” he said through a mouthful of bread.

Apollo smiled at him. “I think that the truth of it is that Xeno’s been a little lonely this winter.” He reached out and patted Xeno affectionately on the arm. “I’m sure that he’s glad to make a new friend, and I’m glad you could finally make it out here, Lucius.”

“You’re too kind." Even Lucius could hear the ice in his own voice. Luckily, neither of the Lovegoods seemed to notice, although Lucius caught Robena’s eye, who shook her head in warning. Lucius cleared his throat. “Truly. Your hospitality is most generous.” _There, that was better,_ he thought. He just needed to commit. 

Apollo stood and went to the sideboard, returning with a tray of cakes on a warped wooden tray with a Spell-o-Taped handle. He set it down and came up behind Xeno, resting his hands on his son’s shoulders. “Well, I don’t know about all of that,” he said. “Merlin knows we’re glad of the company. Our family is small and we really only have each other. Still…” he sighed and looked around. “It could be worse. We’ve got it pretty good, don’t we Xeno?”

Xeno tilted his head up to the side and smiled. “Yes, papa.” Apollo patted Xeno on the cheek and sat back down. 

A wave of rage washed over Lucius, a torrent of jealousy, anger and agony for what he could never, ever have no matter how much money, power, or influence his own family possessed. It felt strong enough to drown him, to choke him, to cut off his air supply so that nothing existed but the brutal unfairness of all of it, the force of his hatred so strong it almost doubled him over. _This, then, is the siren’s true revenge: this has nothing to do with the demiguise, but in showing me what I can never have,_ Lucius thought. He didn’t even realize he was death-gripping his tea cup until it suddenly shattered in his hand, the shards of stained ceramic flying across the table as well as slicing his flesh as they embedded themselves in Lucius’ hand. 

The sudden, stinging pain snapped Lucius out of his reverie. “How clumsy of me,” he muttered. “Terribly sorry.” 

“Think nothing of it, my boy, think nothing of it!” Apollo said. His voice was kind, but his eyes carried a note of suspicion, not unlike the look he gave Hector Giovane the first time Apollo had learned Lucius’ surname. He drew his wand and cast Tergeo to clean up the spilled tea as Robena drew her wand as well. 

“Would you like me to repair the teacup?” Robena asked, pointing her wand at the shards.

“Please,” Apollo said with a somewhat shaky smile. “We only have these four, you see…” he drifted off, clearly embarrassed.

Robena nodded and quickly cast Reparo. As the pieces flew together, the tiny fragments lodged in Lucius’ hand also broke free, making tears come to Lucius’ eyes. Luckily, no one noticed. Robena was handing the repaired cup to Apollo, Xeno had gone back to eating his cake, and Apollo was looking satisfied that his higgledy-piggledy tea set was now intact, or as intact as it ever would be. _Ridiculous to be envious of any of this,_ Lucius thought, drying his eyes quickly as Robena cast the healing spell on his hand. _I’m a Malfoy. One doesn’t get luckier than that._

FIFTY-THREE: PI

After tea, Lucius and Xeno headed out into the warm spring afternoon to exercise the new broomstick and enjoy the much-missed sunshine. Robena went out to supervise, but after a few minutes of standing around and shielding her eyes against the sun’s glare, made up her mind that Lucius was fine. Besides, he deserved some time with just him and a child not from a prestigious family, without any adult interference. It was the least Robena could do for Lucius after watching him withstand the throes of boredom and loneliness all winter in the cold and cavernous Malfoy Manor.

Robena didn’t go in straight away, but wandered around the house, keeping the boys within earshot. On the far side of the unusual Lovegood house was an overgrown herb garden, but Robena could still see chives poking their slender green spears through the brown clutter of weeds and dead plants. She crouched down and gently cleared the tangle of prior years’ plant refuse from the chives. As she did, Robena uncovered a mottled gray stone with a carving on it. _In memory of Ursula, loving mother, doting wife, and extraordinary witch._

Robena carefully brushed the dirt from the stone so she could study it. Such a thing certainly threw the parallels between the Lovegoods and the Malfoys into strong relief. Robena ran her fingers over the neatly carved words. _Two families, so alike and yet so different,_ she thought. A call and a whoop from overhead drew Robena’s attention and she stood and looked up to see Lucius rolling his broom, Xeno hot on his heels, both laughing. 

The image of Lucius so happy made Robena’s heart catch in her chest, knowing that these moments were all too few and far between for him, and would probably become even less frequent as he grew up. Robena had caught Lucius’ feeling of envy in watching the Lovegoods together. She was no empath, but she knew Lucius better than anyone else did, and could feel the hot rage pouring off of him like a volcano before it erupted as an exploded teacup. Deep down, Robena suspected they both knew that Lucius’ anger had nothing to do with the Lovegoods. To Lucius, this was the father-son bond that he had never seen demonstrated until today, something he probably didn’t even realize he was starved for, but did realize he would never receive. Aside from try and support Lucius in any way she could, there was little Robena could do but watch it happen and grieve for him.

_At least he has Hogwarts to look forward to,_ Robena thought as she brushed her hands off on her skirt. The idea cheered her marginally. It was a clear endgame in some ways, a very definitive break for Lucius from childhood and being under Abraxas’ unwavering control to the relative freedom that Hogwarts would offer him. _It’ll also help Lucius realize he’s better off without his father,_ came the next thought. Robena had these types of thoughts frequently, and sometimes wondered if her conscience offered them up as some sort of rationalizing consolation prize for what she was planning to do. 

_What_ are _you planning to do, anyway?_ Robena asked herself as she followed the overgrown stone path back to the front of the house. Her plans had advanced not at all since her conversation with Casimir a few weeks ago. While he was potentially a valuable ally, had a rock solid plan to get Robena and Daphne off of Malfoy property, and had given Robena some valuable tips for dealing with Daphne’s siren powers, he had offered nothing whatsoever in terms of actually carrying out the deed. Robena crossed her arms over her abdomen as she walked slowly. 

It was probably just as well that he not help her in this manner. Killing Abraxas, carrying out what was going to be cold-blooded, pre-meditated murder, had been Robena’s idea and it was up to her to conceive of it and see her own convictions through. She could accept an accomplice inasmuch as Casimir could help her and Daphne leave without any clue as to where they were going, but Robena knew she had to own the act itself; it was hers and no one else’s. By then, Robena had come around to the front of the house. Xeno and Lucius still wheeled overhead. Xeno had found a battered Quaffle somewhere and now they tossed it back and forth. 

“It’s good that he has a friend.” 

Apollo’s voice made Robena jump. She turned around quickly. Apollo too had come out to stand on the steps of the porch, now also shading his eyes with one hand. “Which one do you mean, sir?” Robena asked, “Lucius or Xeno?”

“Both, Miss March, I should think.” 

“I agree, Mr. Lovegood.” Both were silent for a time. Robena knew that neither she nor Lucius were in a rush to get back to Malfoy Manor. At the same time, she knew that she was a bit of a tacked-on guest, there only out of duty. “Are you working on any interesting projects, sir?” she asked politely.

“Always a multitude of projects, Miss March. I start more than I ever could finish in fifty lifetimes, of course. Some interesting and some, well…” He drifted off before tilting his head to one side. “Shall I show you?”

“Please.” Robena had nothing to lose and also had nothing else to do.

Apollo turned back to the house and held the door for Robena. She walked in and stood to one side as Apollo led the way to the second floor of the house. Robena of course had passed through it on the way to the upper floor that housed the kitchen/dining room combination, but had been looking at the books and not paying attention to the rest of the space. Like the remainder of the house, it was hopelessly cluttered, boxes of gears rubbing up against piles of manuscript parchment, piled high on top of empty cauldron crates. “Please excuse the mess,” Apollo said belatedly, waving his hand in a vague manner. 

Robena noted that the biggest pile was actually a desk, once a handsome maple roll-top, now as overgrown with detritus as the rest of the room. It was through this particular pile that Apollo now dug, mumbling, “...could have sworn…in here somewhere…” 

“Anything I can help you find, sir?” Robena asked.

Apollo stood up straight. “It’s…erm….like a sort of a wonky box about the size of a Billywig nest, blue in color, with yellow writing.” He gestured as he talked, his hands approximating the size and shape of whatever it was he was looking for. 

Robena frowned and started looking for it, or at least pretending to, as she had no earthly idea what the size and shape of a Billywig nest was. As she moved a particularly large pile of papers to see what was underneath, she knocked over a small machine. Luckily it was already on the ground, so it merely fell over on its side. It had wood and brass housing with what looked like four or five vacuum tubes on top and some dials and gauges on the side. 

As it fell, the tubes lit up, each a different color, and each pulsing at a different rate as Robena could hear a hum start from inside of the machine. Before she could react, a bright light shone out from a small window on the side, and Robena saw a ghostly figure of herself right the machine before another Robena, superimposed over the first one kicked an image of the machine across the room. More and more Robenas appeared, each committing a different action, while the previous Robenas faded out of sight. 

“Blast it,” Apollo said. He moved quickly, reaching out and flipping a switch on the side of the machine. The images slowed down almost comically, doubling over on themselves, folding up, and then disappearing back in the window. The tubes faded and the whirring slowed to a faint whine before all was silent again, less the occasional laughs and calls coming from the boys outside. 

“If I may, what was that, sir?” Robena asked a bit breathlessly.

“Nothing of use, Miss March. A machine that I meant to take apart to salvage its components for more salient functions.” Apollo ran his hands through his hair. “It has no practical application, none whatsoever, nor does it do a thing to advance magical theory.” He glared at it as if it was a truant child or a pet that had left a mess on the carpet. “I’m afraid my Possibility Initiatrix is little more than a party trick.”

“Possibility Initiatrix?”

“Well, yes, Miss March, that’s what I was going to call it, ah… _Pi_ for short.”

“What…er…does it—I mean—what was Pi _supposed_ to do?” Robena surmised that Apollo didn’t want to talk about it, but she was also curious. She had never seen anything like it.

Apollo sighed. “It was meant to aid witches and wizards in making decisions.” He cleared off a chair and patted it for Robena to sit, which she did. Apollo leaned against the edge of the desk and crossed one ankle over the other. “You see, Miss March, I wanted to design a machine that would show a witch or wizard the different possibilities available to him or her for a given scenario and how each might play out.”

Robena lifted a brow. “That sounds quite useful. Most enterprising, actually.” 

Apollo smiled ruefully. “One would think, but unfortunately, that’s not at all what the infernal thing does.”

“What does it do?”

Apollo jerked his chin at it. “What you just saw. It goes through the possibilities, all right, but in a manner neither productive nor sensible. I never was able to temper it with any sort of regulation so the possibilities it comes up with become ever more outlandish until it seizes up.” 

“Surely an inventor of your caliber could build a regulator for it,” Robena said, gesturing at the machine.

“You’re kind to say, Miss March, but I have other projects to occupy me now that I find far more gratifying, so I’m afraid Pi is going to be relegated to the grand rubbish heap of poorly-executed ideas.” 

Just then, the sound of the front door opening and shutting drifted up to them, along with the exclamations and conversation of Lucius and Xeno. “Papa?” Xeno called.

“Up here, son.” 

The two boys clambered up the stairs still carrying the broomsticks. “Guess what, Papa?” Xeno asked, his hair still tousled from the wind.

“What is it? You know I’ll never guess…”

“Lucius let me ride his 7/8ths scale Comet. It’s so fast and responsive and, and…” Xeno’s excitement got the better of him, costing him his ability to articulate verbally the excitement that shone out of his face. 

“It’s yours, if you’d like.” Lucius' tone was as quiet and modulated as Xeno’s was pressured and high-pitched.

“Wha—WHAT??” Xeno fairly screamed.

“I didn’t stutter,” Lucius replied. “The Comet is yours, if you fancy it.”

“ _Fancy_ it? It’s—it’s…I can’t…I mean…” Xeno’s grin looked fit to split his face in half.

“That is very kind of you, Lucius, but we couldn’t possibly accept so valuable a gift,” Apollo said gently.

Xeno’s face fell. In fact, his entire upper body fell, head, shoulders, upper back, all slumped in abject defeat.

“Nonsense,” Lucius said, ignoring Xeno completely, his voice still steady and even. “With the Peregrine, I have no use whatsoever for the Comet, to say nothing of the fact that it no longer fits me.”

Apollo glanced at Xeno helplessly, who now looked back at him with wide eyes, his every sinew silently begging his father to relent. “Well…” Apollo wavered and Robena saw a tiny smile creep onto Lucius’ face, knowing that he had placed a winning bet on that strong father-son bond. 

“It’s headed for the bin otherwise.” Lucius picked an errant blade of grass from his shoulder, examining it and then let it fall to the floor before he smiled politely at Apollo once more. 

At this harsh sentencing of Lucius’ old broom, Xeno’s jaw dropped and his eyes widened as if someone had just cursed him in the viscera. For the umpteenth time that day, Robena had to hide a smile, both appalled and proud of Lucius’ ruthless manipulation. 

“I shall, of course, defer to your judgment in the manner, Mr. Lovegood,” Lucius said softly, that tiny smirk still pulling at the corners of his mouth.

“Very well, Lucius,” Apollo finally said, his brows knit together. To Robena, he suddenly looked older. “That is most kind of you.”

Xeno jumped in the air, pumping his fist. “Yes! Oh, thank you, papa! Thank you Lucius!” He flew over to Apollo, threw his arms around him and squeezed.

“There, there, calm yourself, my boy!” Apollo awkwardly patted Xeno as best he could with his arms pinned down by Xeno’s enthusiastic hug. 

Xeno released him and turned to Lucius. “I’m going to go and write all about this broom in my journal…right now, before I forget anything about this.” Without another word, he dashed off, his excited steps beating up the wrought-iron staircase.

Lucius looked at Apollo. “Journal?” 

“Yes, he writes down everything that happens to him, every day. Remarkable discipline, if I say so, for one so young and, well, _flighty…_ He particularly likes writing about broomsticks, even draws them…diagrams and such, you know. His fondest wish is to write for _Which Broomstick?_ when he grows up.” Apollo’s brows lifted. “He may very well have a future in it, if I’m honest...”

“I don’t doubt it,” Lucius replied seriously. 

“If I may, Mr. Lovegood,” Robena interjected, “Would you mind terribly showing Lucius your Pi machine? I’m certain he would find it fascinating at best and entertaining at worst.”

Apollo’s smile faded and the look of annoyance he had exhibited at the machine returned. “Oh, I suppose if I _must_ …” he muttered. 

“I should like to see it very much,” Lucius said.

“It’s useless, just so you know.” Apollo wagged a finger at Lucius before reaching down and flipping the switch on the side. The whirring started back up, the tubes lit and pulsed and the image of Lucius now manifested, the first standing and pondering the machine, the second mounting the broom still in hand and flying around the room, the third lying down on the floor for a nap. More and more came and, as Apollo had warned, committed increasingly ridiculous actions. 

After the doppelganger Luciuses started trashing a ghostly facsimile of the office, tearing the parchment into confetti and upsetting the rest of the items in the room, Apollo reached over and switched the machine off. The copies of Lucius faded back out again and once they did, Apollo folded his arms and glared at Pi as the tubes and the inner workings wound down. “You see? No use to anyone. Wouldn’t you agree, Lucius?”

Lucius did not reply. His gray eyes were fixed on the now-silent and dark machine, the light of obsession burning bright and his smile now one of victory.


	21. Ch. 54: Daphne; Ch. 55: Detachment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Losing her resolve in her plot against Abraxas, Robena finally pays Daphne a visit. Even as Robena tells Daphne that she intends to free her, Daphne tries to set the stakes higher. On his way to the Owlery to post a letter to Xeno, Lucius reflects on his time with Robena, agonizing over his feelings of powerlessness over her situation. Hell-bent on obtaining the Pi device, Lucius visits the Lovegoods with the intention of springing his trap. 
> 
> _Well, I know that you see it as a nuisance, but I find your Pi machine fascinating, so I was wondering…might I borrow it in order to study it better?” Lucius held up a hand. “I would return it promptly with not a scratch on it, of course.”_
> 
> _Apollo gave Lucius a frown of consternation. “I’m not in the habit of letting my inventions out of my possession, Lucius…no hard feelings?”_
> 
> _Lucius had anticipated this. He smiled. “None whatsoever.”_

FIFTY-FOUR: DAPHNE

As April turned into May, Robena felt her resolve in the matter of ending Abraxas’ life slowly eroding, like the tide on sand or last night’s dream. The two of them had slipped into a routine whereupon when Abraxas was home, he would come to her room when he fancied, at the same time each night. Robena didn’t bother to lock the door; there was no point. Abraxas would silently open the door with his wand drawn, always. Since Robena had petrified him, true to his word, Abraxas had not let his guard down. He would then stand over her bed, clad in a velvet-trimmed brocade dressing gown and hold out his left hand.

Robena knew her part well by then: she would turn to her nightstand, take her wand, and place it in Abraxas’ outstretched hand. He would then toss her wand casually over his shoulder, where it would clatter into a corner. Abraxas ensured that his own wand was never far away, in his robe pocket most often, placed over one of the foot bedposts. Robena would then follow his instructions. Abraxas hadn’t cast the Imperius Curse on her much since the first time, and for her part, Robena tried not behave in such a way as to provoke it or any other Unforgiveable Curse from Abraxas’ wand. 

In fact, she had been as docile as a flobberworm, and despite his previous escalation a few months back, Abraxas had not been overly monstrous to her as a reward these days, with only a few notable exceptions. One had been on the night following Robena’s confrontation of Francois. Abraxas was angry about something as well that night, and although his wrath was not with her, he certainly had no problem taking whatever had provoked it out on her. 

His was a cold and calculated anger though, and nothing that Abraxas did matched the one drunken night where he had truly lost control. No, he still told her what to do in the same manner he commanded his house elves, but also looked for any excuse to punish her. One second-long delay, one glance from her that he perceived as insolent, and Robena would feel the back of his hand. And Abraxas hit hard. That resulted in more bruises, more reproachful looks from Lucius, and more awkward silences between the two of them, with Lucius oath-bound not to ask her about it.

Another incident occurred the night that Druella Black and her husband Cygnus had come over. This time, Abraxas wasn’t angry, not exactly, but was vindictive: once again, not towards Robena, but taking it out on her. That was the night that Robena had to muster every ounce of willpower not to beg him to Obliviate her, he with a fistful of her hair, demanding that she beg him for his purity…Robena was so close, so very close to breaking and doing as Georgina had done, plead for the sweet release of the magical amnesia that Abraxas’ wand could provide. In the end, Robena had resisted the urge to do so, although she could not necessarily see it as a victory.

Now Robena lay in her bed, Abraxas having just left. She had already pushed her nightdress back down, but hadn’t bothered putting her legs together. Her inner thighs still felt sore and damp. Her mouth tasted like copper from where one of her teeth had cut the inside of her cheek. Rather than feeling angry, Robena felt drained: physically, emotionally, and spiritually exhausted. She felt her eyes close.

When she opened them, she stood in the Fell Circle with Daphne. No other creatures or blocks of marble kept them company, just Robena herself and the siren, standing opposite each other, Daphne manifested out of her marble form and with her arms folded. Golden clouds moved with supernatural speed over a burnished and metallic red sky overhead. “How long are you going to let this go on?” Daphne asked without moving her mouth. Her voice simply sounded in Robena’s mind, powerful but not compelling her to do anything.

“I don’t know,” Robena answered either out loud or maybe it was just in her own head.

The siren dropped her hands. “He’s getting bored, you know.”

“I do.”

“Do you know what that means?”

“He’ll kill me.”

“Or you’ll kill him. So which shall it be? The choices are merely two, no more, no less.”

Robena wished the sky would slow down; the racing clouds made her feel dizzy. “I—I don’t think I can do it.”

“Then you’re dead. So wake up.” Faster than Robena could see, the siren clapped her hands. The sound plunged the scene into darkness less that strange gilded filament stretching out from her core. It was there for the briefest of instants before Robena opened her eyes back in her own room. She sat up, unsure if minutes had passed or hours. _It doesn’t matter,_ she thought as she crossed to her wardrobe, threw it open, and pulled on a cloak and boots. She retrieved her wand from the floor in the corner where Abraxas had tossed it like so much rubbish. Robena then found a pin on her dresser and secured it to her robe before stashing her wand and slipping out the door. 

Not even a house elf stirred in the silent halls. Robena moved quickly despite this, finding the house elf passages en route to the kitchen. Only one exterior door in Malfoy Manor went un-warded at night, and it was the one off the kitchen, no doubt a throwback to when the kitchen was located outside of Malfoy Manor in a separate building. This was before modern fire suppression magic was honed and perfected, making such a precaution unnecessary. 

Robena made quick work of sneaking around the dozens of house elves sleeping in neat rows in their multi-colored sleeping bags in front of the kindled orange embers of the kitchen’s grand fireplace. She slipped out the side door and into the moonlit courtyard. The night was humid and neither cold nor hot; she was glad of a cloak, but knew that especially after the trek to the Fell Circle, she would feel completely comfortable. 

It took Robena less than ten minutes of walking to reach her destination. The bright moonlight removed any need of Robena's drawing her wand; she could see each and every creature clearly, from the faun to the manticore, its triple row of teeth bared and its scorpion tail raised. She shuddered and then crossed to the siren, the silence of the circle pressing against her ears. Daphne remained in the exact same position as the last time Robena had visited the Fell Circle. The difference this time was that Robena would wake her.

Robena knew her first task would be to remove the steel gag. She drew her wand and narrowed her eyes at the runes glowing minutely in shimmering blue over the cold steel. “ _Finite incantatum_ ,” Robena cast as she placed one hand on the gag. She had no idea if it would work, but it was worth a try. To her satisfaction, the runes faded and went dark. Robena pulled gently and the gag came off. As she did, her thumb brushed the siren’s cheek. Robena froze as the marble started to become almost translucent and Daphne started to come to life.

 _Well, it_ is _why you came out here, isn’t it?_ Robena asked herself. She stepped back and watched, her heart in her mouth. Without the gag or the compulsion of Malfoy blood, she could end up in the same position as Lucius had been: seconds from death at the siren’s command. _As opposed to Abraxas killing you just because he can?_ she thought. With this reasonable rationalization, Robena stashed her wand and watched Daphne rouse.

The color came back to Daphne’s face, hair and garments gradually until she fully fleshed out. Then she started to move, relaxing her hands and fingers. She reached up with one hand and felt her face where the gag was now gone. She looked at Robena and half-smiled. “It’s about time." To Robena’s surprise, Daphne's voice sounded completely normal, accented perhaps, but not the stiletto to the psyche that Lucius had described. 

Robena suddenly felt at a loss of what to say to this ancient creature who was already old when Jason went cruising for his Golden Fleece. “I’m Robena,” she said. It seemed as reasonable enough place to start.

“I possess the entirety of human knowledge, Robena. I know your name.” 

“Have you been visiting my dreams?”

Daphne stepped off of the marble block and onto the leaves. “What do you think, Robena March? I am encased in marble almost all of the time. Exactly how powerful do you believe I am? Despite my immobility and enslavement, have I been the one to send you dreams or has your own psyche fed you these dreams because you realize that you and I reflect each other in eternity's dark mirror?” She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply, her chest rising and falling before she opened her eyes once more. “Or is it simply the magic that flows beneath us that permeates your fertile mind with each moon’s rise?” 

Robena frowned. Lucius had more or less warned her that the siren talked in circles and riddles and that even if she did possess the entirety of human knowledge, she owed no one a straight answer. “Do you dream?” Robena asked suddenly, unsure where the question had come from. “Asleep in your marble prison, do you have dreams?”

Daphne’s brows contracted, seemingly caught off guard by Robena’s question. “I—“ she started, her remarkable eyes far away with recall. “I dream of flying. I used to fly, of course, before Theseus Malfoy cut off my wings.” Daphne sat down on her marble block. She picked up a stick and started drawing on the ground with it, circles and infinity loops. “Of course, when I could fly, I took it for granted, thought I would have the power to do so forever. Strange what you miss once it is gone.” 

Robena closed her eyes, calling to mind her own dreams of flying over a turquoise sea dotted with craggy gray rocks, the sun beating down warm on her back. When she opened her eyes again, she looked at the scar tissue on Daphne’s back. Even free, she would never fly again. The thought saddened Robena. “I met your brother Casimir,” she tried. 

Daphne looked up at her. “How is he?”

Once again, the question was so human it took Robena aback. She crouched down to get on Daphne’s level. “He seems quite content. Runs a whorehouse.”

Daphne laughed then, with the cascading water sound overlaid with glass breaking and this time Robena did feel the tingle of compulsion in the base of her skull. “Of course he does,” Daphne said. “An Incubus fathered him.”

“Oh," Robena replied. It made total sense. “Well, he has the goal of freeing you with my help.”

Daphne’s smile faded. “If he wants my freedom, the endeavor shall involve your spilling of a Malfoy’s life blood. Can you do that?”

“It remains to be seen, doesn’t it?”

Daphne’s eyes dropped to the stick she was using to draw. “An already-fragile mortal who lacks conviction to do the necessary is to be my savior? Casimir has always had a questionable sense of humor…”

“I’m out here, aren’t I?” Robena retorted. “I’m risking my own life in waking a creature who could kill me with the power of her voice in order to try and help.” Her legs starting to cramp from crouching so Robena stood. She spent the next few minutes explaining Casimir’s plan. 

Daphne stood as well. “That is all very well, but what if you cannot actually commit the deed?”

“If I come running to the Fell Circle to get you with blood all over my hands, you’ll know that I succeeded. If not, you’ll be asleep in marble.” 

Daphne sighed. “You make it sound as if it’s some sort of tranquil rest.” She looked away for a moment. “Should you not succeed and yet survive, I want you to destroy my statue.”

Robena felt her eyebrows knit. “Surely you can’t mean that.”

Daphne turned her head back, quick like a bird. “I shall give you a chance to free me in the way Casimir wants, Robena March, but for Casimir’s sake only.” Her jaw tightened with a small flurry of muscle. “I owe him duty as a sister, and _he_ would see me freed and so I must try.”

“There’s no part of you that wants freedom?”

The siren smiled grimly, her eyes burning bright. “My freedom means nothing if the Malfoy line remains intact.”

Now Robena set her jaw. “I’ll not kill Lucius, nor allow anyone else to do so if it is within my power.”

The siren closed her eyes. “I know this.” Her voice echoed against the rest of the statues. Robena felt a tingle at the base of her skull once more. The siren’s chest rose and fell more rapidly now and her hands curled to fists. Robena felt her heart speed up. She reached down and undid her pin, leaving it open in her hand, its point against her thumb, just in case. 

The siren opened her eyes once more and smiled, but it was sad this time. “What you and Casimir don’t realize is that I _have_ died, many times. Pierre Malfoy cut my throat the day he made the Fell Circle. I died again when Theseus Malfoy cut off my wings. And I die a bit every time I have to lay down for the Silencing.” She looked at Robena. “Tell me, what am I supposed to do in an eternity without wings? What kind of existence is that for one such as I? Surely Casimir has not considered this.” 

“He doesn’t know that your wings are gone."

“I. Know.” Daphne took a deep breath. “Again, in the extremely unlikely event that you succeed in this your darkest of tasks, gaining my paltry freedom, I shall allow you to take me to Casimir.” She ran her fingers through her long, dark hair. “As I say, I would do this for him, even without Lucius dead.” She smiled coldly. “It is not my first choice, of course, but I owe Casimir much.” Daphne glanced at Robena. “Besides, he is single-minded in whatever he puts his will to and knows how high the stakes are should balance remain askew for much longer.” 

_Balance?_ Robena wondered. _What balance?_

Daphne continued. “Still, you must tell Casimir that my wings are gone and that I shall not be of much use alive. You must also make him swear to end the Malfoy line himself, because you yourself cannot do it.”

Robena took a deep breath. “Daphne, I’m all for helping to free you, even to the point of committing murder…apparently….but I’ll not say any of that to Casimir. You can make that request of him when you see him again. I’ll not be party to such a conspiracy against Lucius’ life.” 

Daphne’s smile faded. “I could compel you.” She started to advance on Robena, slowly, her bare feet hardly disturbing the leaves as she closed in.

“Please don’t, Daphne. I’m trying to help you.”

Daphne moved closer to her, even as Robena backed slowly away. “Have a care, Robena,” Daphne said with a smile, “If you wander too far in the wrong direction within this circle, you may awaken a far more dangerous creature then me.” Her voice had taken on an enhanced resonance, once again tickling the base of Robena’s brain with a numb sort of voltage and turning Robena’s legs into what felt like two lead blocks. 

Robena put her other hand behind her back and without hesitating, jabbed the pin into the side of her thumb. “I…just…want…to…help,” she said weakly, freezing in place. Daphne came closer and closer. Robena squeezed her thumb hard with her index finger. 

“Tell Casimir to end the Malfoy line himself, as you are too _weak_ to do so yourself…” 

The cocooning effect of Daphne’s voice reminded Robena of Abraxas’ Imperius Curse, which jolted her out of her stupor long enough to touch her bleeding thumb to Daphne’s exposed arm. Daphne looked at the smear of blood, dark in the moonlight. “You are no Malfoy, what do you think your blood is going to—“ Her voice cut off as she did a double take at her left hand, its fingers already starting to turn opaque and bright white in the moonlight. Daphne looked at Robena in disgust. “I should have known,” she said, her voice back to normal as the white spread up her hand. “You _reek_ of him…his malice, his lust, his…” her voice faded as the opacity spread faster, now into her head. “ _Lord and Master, I rest_ ,” the ritual voice came out of Daphne’s mouth as she moved back to her block and assumed her position of repose.

Robena let out the breath she had been holding, dizzy with relief. Above her, the newly leafed-out trees swayed gently in a nighttime breeze. The sounds returned to the forest. Robena picked up the discarded steel gag and replaced it on Daphne’s face, being careful not to touch her skin. Lastly, she cast the Sticking Charm that had kept it in place and re-activated the runes. Robena then fastened the pin into her cloak, wiped her thumb on her sleeve and fled from the Fell Circle, walking briskly back towards Malfoy Manor. She would still free Daphne, as doing so would cement her ticket out of Malfoy Manor, but Daphne had proven herself as dangerous as Lucius had warned.

Robena retraced her steps through the meadow with its calf-high grass. A breeze blew through the field, making an eerie whistling sound. The moon was so bright that Robena could see her shadow in sharp relief against the blade-like strands, bending and twisting in the nighttime wind. She skirted the edge of the formal garden and walked briskly past the armory. Just a few paces past it, Robena stopped dead in her tracks. She backed up the few steps until she was parallel to the iron-studded oak door. Drawing her wand, Robena quickly cast, “ _Alohamora._ ”

The door swung open, spilling a shaft of moonlight onto the sloped floor. “ _Lumos._ ” Robena’s next spell illuminated the medieval space with pale light. She moved to the scarred side table, squatted beside it, and looked underneath. Dozens of rectangular cubbies constructed of the same wood as the table stored unstrung bows and various kinds of arrows. With the utmost care, Robena removed an arrow similar to the one with which Abraxas had threatened her. 

She studied its graceful and cruel triple head, honed to a razor’s edge. Robena Nox’d her wand and then cast Specialis Revelio. The arrow glowed red for a moment and Robena could see a ghostly wand poised over the arrowhead. “ _Mortis Finalis_ ,” Robena heard Abraxas’ voice as an echoing whisper all around her. After a few seconds the image trembled and faded. Robena smiled in the dark. Abraxas had indeed cast the spell to turn the it into a Final Arrow. 

Robena looked about her. She spied a piece of parchment, and then made quick work transfiguring into a rag, which she wrapped around the lethal arrow head before stashing both in her robes. The house elves still slept soundly when she tiptoed back through the kitchen. Robena made it back to her room without incident. She stashed the arrow in the bottom of her trunk before removing her boots and her cloak. 

Her soft bed welcomed her after her trying evening and Robena’s eyelids felt heavy before her head even hit the pillow. She called to mind the day that she had seen Abraxas cast the Dark Arts spell to create his Final Arrows before threatening Robena with one of them. How long ago that seemed and how much had changed from that day to this. _How ironic that the very same spell that he cast shall be the one to end his life,_ Robena thought. She didn’t know whether or not to be disturbed by the amount of satisfaction that gave her. Without another worry, she fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.

FIFTY-FIVE: DETACHMENT

For days after his visit with the Lovegoods, Lucius greeted each morning with optimism. He couldn’t believe his luck. The same vicious siren that had almost ended his life had indeed told the truth about Apollo possessing the key to catching the demiguise. Of course, Lucius had kept his mouth shut about that whole affair to either of the Lovegoods. For such a learned, brilliant mind, Apollo clearly had no notion of what he actually had in his possession with his peerless Pi device. 

This fine May day, Lucius had climbed around and around the interior of the cylinder of the Owlery tower with a response to an owl he had received from Xenophilius Lovegood. Lucius reached the top of the Owlery and moseyed to the window. From this vantage point, he could see the entire Malfoy formal garden arrayed in front of him. He paused to look, studying the patterns of shape and form, having never done so from quite this perspective. Lucius realized quickly that, as with the dragon statues, he had never appreciated the thought, intention, and execution of the garden as a whole. From the ground, it was just individual perfectly-manicured topiary pieces; one could not fully comprehend the larger picture except from this literal birds’-eye view. 

_Just as Robena had told me the first day we came up here,_ Lucius thought. From the outset, she had tried to expand Lucius’ capacity to think critically, to sharpen his mind, and to widen his gaze. Lucius looked around the Owlery, noting that aside from the season outside of the rough-hewn granite blocks that constructed it, little had changed within since then. There were more skeletons arrayed on the floor, and the roosts held the Malfoy owls as well as a few from their correspondents, all taking a bit of rest before they headed back out. 

Lucius folded his letter, having perfected Gerard’s Fold months prior. Lucius whistled, two shrill notes that called one of the barn owls to him. It cocked its head with its heart-shaped face as it held out a long feathered leg with its four, sharp zygodactyl talons. Thanks to Robena, Lucius knew that the owl, unlike other birds, could turn one of its rear talons forward, to assist with walking and gripping. All of it reminded him of Robena, and Lucius felt unaccountably sad, frustrated, and helpless. He believed now with absolute conviction that his own father was regularly doing something terrible to Robena, and yet Lucius was powerless to do a thing about it.

Lucius secured the letter to the barn owl’s leg and watched it take wing and diminish in the sky before disappearing. Lucius sighed, his mind back on Robena as he started walking down the stairs, side-stepping bird excrement and animal skulls as best he could. He knew that his father expected absolute loyalty from him, including taking Abraxas’ side and assuming that whatever he was doing to Robena had a purpose, one that ultimately served the Malfoy family. Despite this, Lucius found that every time he turned around, Robena had his back in ways that his father never had. She had taught him so much and had showed him tremendous compassion despite the fact that he wasn’t blood to her. 

At the bottom of the stairs, Lucius stepped out into the late afternoon sun. All the trees lining the meadow had fully flowered and the effect was magnificent. _I shall have to lure Robena out here as well; she seemed to gain such joy from the snowdrops,_ Lucius thought. The other remarkable thing about Robena was that despite whatever Abraxas was doing to her, she had not left. Through it all, she had stuck by Lucius’ side, showing the kind of loyalty that, ironically, Abraxas expected from Lucius. 

With little else to do now that he had dispatched his owl and desperate to get his mind off of the futility of his situation, Lucius went to the armory. He found and strung his bow, grabbed some practice arrows and drew and fired his bow at his circle, letting his mind focus on this one physical and mental task, blocking out all thoughts of Robena, Abraxas, the Lovegoods, and the demiguise. Lucius honed in his focus such that only the bow, the arrows and the target existed. _Draw…breathe in….breathe out…breathe in…wait a heartbeat…Fire!_ Over and over Lucius repeated this sequence. _Drip, drip, drip._

When the shadows started to lengthen and Lucius’ arms, shoulders, and upper back burned from his exertions, Lucius gathered his arrows and headed back to the armory. Despite his growing hunger, Lucius unstrung his bow and performed the requisite maintenance, replacing all with the utmost care. As he put the arrow back where they belonged, something strange caught his eye and he did a double take.

The three-bladed hunting broadheads were stacked neatly in their cubbies next to the practice arrows, all but one cubby, where one arrow’s fletching stuck out about an inch or two more than its siblings, the others of which were in perfect order. Frowning, Lucius crouched down. The first thing he did was to count the arrows twice: there were eleven where there should have been a dozen. So one was missing, obviously, but Lucius also noticed something caught in the fletching of the errant arrow. He carefully teased out a long auburn hair from the fibers of the turkey feathers. Even though Lucius knew the fatal spell of these particular broadheads had broken at sunset on whichever day his father had cursed them, they were sharp and must be handled with respect. 

“What are you up to, Robena?” Lucius murmured, wondering what his governess could possibly want with a single broadhead when she had never shown the slightest interest in hunting. He dropped the hair into the pocket of his cloak, straightened the rest of the arrows, and then stood up. Lucius turned to leave. Then, almost as an afterthought, he turned and counted the bows as well, even the ancient crossbows his father disdained to shoot as _not sportsmanlike._ All were accounted for. Lucius couldn’t make snouts or scales of it, but eventually shrugged it off as nothing and went to find out what the house elves had concocted for dinner. 

The rest of the evening was unremarkable, as was the following day. Robena acted normal, or as normal as she ever did these days with new bruises and abrasions that Lucius wasn’t allowed to ask after. The only thing that did happen was that Lucius received a reply from Xeno Lovegood inviting him over to their house the following Saturday. This time, Lucius managed to convince his father that the Lovegoods were harmless and Robena only need accompany him inasmuch as she could Side-along him there and back again. 

That Saturday, once again Lucius found himself in the sunlit valley with the strange Lovegood sundial house in the center. Robena gave a polite greeting to the Lovegoods and then Disapparated. Xeno wasted no time in letting Lucius know just how much he liked his new broom and how grateful he was that Lucius had given it to him. Lucius reacted to Xeno’s effusive praise with grace, modesty, and detachment, all the while noting the look of tension on the elder Lovegood’s face. 

Lucius had brought the Peregrine with him, of course; Xeno had invited him over with the sole purpose of flying again, a notion to which Lucius was not opposed. The day was warm and pleasant and, thanks to Apollo’s wind siphon, calm around the house where they would fly. Lucius and Xeno passed the time easily enough, racing and running obstacles. Thus warmed to the task, the two boys played catch with an ancient and battered Quaffle after Xeno had dumped the water out that had accumulated within it, having leaked in through a _C-_ shaped lesion on its scarred surface. 

“Sorry,” Xeno said, attempting comically to rub the scuffs off of the surface of the Quaffle. 

“For what?” Lucius asked. 

“I’m sure you’re used to a nicer Quaffle, is all.” 

“Ah yes, because Quidditch is such a polite, well-mannered game.” Lucius straightened a tail twig from his own broomstick.

Xeno grinned. “Then you’re not playing it right.”

Lucius rewarded him with a withering look. “It was a joke.”

Xeno looked bemused. “Sometimes I can’t tell with you.” 

Lucius repressed the urge to roll his eyes. After all, Xeno was used to a world filled with bright sunshine and cozy teas and a father who thought the world revolved around him. “Shall we play?” Lucius asked, taking the Quaffle, tossing it and catching it again.

Xeno nodded with his enthusiasm typical of anything broom-related. “If only we had two circles; we could play one-on-one Quidditch.”

“True,” Lucius answered. “If only there was someone around, a grown-up perhaps, adept at casting magic and utterly _obsessed_ with circles…” He raised an eyebrow at Xeno. “Do you know anyone like that?”

Xeno looked at him, his brows drawn down in confusion.

“Have you gotten there yet?” Lucius asked dryly.

Xeno brightened in sudden realization.

“There it is.”

Xeno sprinted towards the house, whipped the door open and ran inside. Lucius smiled and shook his head at Xeno calling for his father to come out to help. After a few moments, Apollo came out of the house. He wore a battered dragon-skin apron and his hands were covered in some sort of iridescent grease that he tried ineffectually to wipe off on his trousers. He had goggles pushed up onto his forehead and a rather harried look on his face. Still, he drew his wand and cast the same circle charm he had cast in Flourish and Blott’s, once to the north and then again to the south, each about fifty feet off of the ground. 

“Thank you, papa!” Xeno said.

“Yes, thank you Mr. Lovegood,” Lucius said.

Apollo waved over his shoulder, already having stashed his wand and headed back towards the house. Now Xeno and Lucius could play in earnest, both acting as their own Chaser and Keeper. After what seemed like no time, Apollo came back out. This time he looked somewhat cleaner and more put-together as he called the two of them in for tea.

The tea was very similar to the one the first day with the same mismatched tea set and friendly talk. Once gain, Lucius had to warn himself not to get too comfortable. He still had to maintain his focus and remember why he was doing this. After tea was over, he and Xeno went back outside until Lucius saw Robena walking down the hill towards the house and it was time to go home.

The following Saturday was similar, and the one after. The Lovegoods seemed to like Lucius and despite himself, he liked them as well. Lucius had made a habit of waiting until Xeno ran upstairs to document his experience on the broom, and then he would inquire into Apollo’s projects. Lucius kept his interest in Pi carefully under wraps, except asking as casually as possible on the second Saturday if Apollo had any plans to develop it further. Apollo ran his hands through his thinning hair. “I don’t know, Lucius. Sometimes I think that it was a good idea, poorly executed and other times I think the opposite.”

“That it was a poorly-conceived, but well-executed idea?” Lucius asked.

“Something like that, yes.”

“But you’ve kept it, sir. Do you not ever ask yourself why that is?”

Apollo smiled with chagrin. “All the time, my boy. All the time.”

“Can you please show me how it works?” 

Apollo wavered for a moment, that light of suspicion in his eyes and Lucius kept a look on his face strictly of polite interest. Finally, Apollo relented. Although his explanation mostly involved terms and concepts that flew way over Lucius’ head, and probably most adult witch and wizards’ as well, Lucius got the gist of it. He nodded and then changed the subject, this time to circle geomancy, a subject about which Lucius knew Apollo could wax poetic _ad infinatum_. Lucius also purposefully chose it because he knew it would set Apollo at ease. _Patience,_ Lucius thought, once again nodding politely at Apollo’s pontificating. _Patience._

On the third Saturday, Lucius once again waited for Xeno to go upstairs, leaving his beloved broom downstairs with Lucius. “Sir?” Lucius found Apollo tinkering with a set of potion vials set into a board of connected tubes. 

Apollo looked up at him and smiled. “What is it, my boy?”

“I was wondering if I might ask a favor of you.”

“What did you have in mind?” Apollo’s voice was open and easy, but his eyes carried that potentially lethal spark of distrust.

 _Careful,_ Lucius warned himself. “Well, I know that you see it as a nuisance, but I find your Pi machine fascinating, so I was wondering…might I borrow it in order to study it better?” Lucius held up a hand. “I would return it promptly with not a scratch on it, of course.”

Apollo gave Lucius a frown of consternation. “I’m not in the habit of letting my inventions out of my possession, Lucius.”

Lucius nodded. “I understand completely, sir, and I can’t blame you a bit for exercising caution."

Apollo’s face relaxed. “Perhaps my paranoia is just that, or perhaps it’s the silly affectation of an eccentric old man.”

“Nonsense, sir.” Lucius looked at the tubes that Apollo was working on. “You are an inventor of unparalleled skill and are entitled to any precautions you might find appropriate.”

“So…no hard feelings?” 

Lucius had anticipated this. He smiled. “None whatsoever.” 

Apollo returned his smile and turned back to his work. Lucius wandered over to where Xeno had reverentially placed Lucius’ old Comet. He ran his hand down the polished shaft. “Xeno certainly seems to fancy my old broom." 

“That was quite generous of you, Lucius.” Apollo injected a pink potion into one of the glass tubes using a steel control syringe, his tongue between his teeth in concentration.

“Still…” Lucius trailed off.

Apollo froze for just a moment and then looked up from the tube. “Still, what?” 

“Oh, I’m sure it’s nothing, sir.” Lucius smiled once again. “Forget about it.”

Apollo set the control syringe down. “What’s troubling you, Lucius?”

Lucius paused for a moment, as if getting up the nerve to confess something. “Well, it’s just that I never told my father what I was doing with my old broom once he was kind enough to buy the Peregrine for me.”

Apollo’s forehead creased. “It was wrong of you not to get his permission, Lucius.”

Lucius looked down. “Perhaps you’re right.” He kicked lightly at the umbrella stand full of rolled parchment, making the scrolls shiver slightly. “But I just knew how happy it would make Xeno and…” he looked up, putting on a pained expression. “I mean, it _was_ impulsive, heedless even…but at the same time, it _has_ made Xeno so happy. In all honesty, I doubt my father would care.” He laughed mirthlessly. “It’s not as if he’s paying attention. Besides, he can afford a hundred of those Comets, even customized to 7/8ths size.” Lucius knew this last cursed below the belt, that Apollo could never afford even one such fine apparatus for his broomstick-obsessed, beloved son and that his only hope was in Lucius. Lucius watched Apollo carefully as he gave this performance. To Lucius’ satisfaction, Apollo looked like he was caught in a basilisk’s stare. 

_Perfect,_ Lucius thought before he pressed on. “If he knew, he might feel offended that I didn’t ask him first. I don’t think he’d make me take the Comet back, but one just never knows with him. However…” Lucius leaned in to Apollo and dropped his voice. “My father need never find out. Only four people in Merlin’s realm know that I gave Xeno that broomstick, and I can assure you beyond any shadow of a doubt that Miss March shall say nothing to Father.” Lucius stood up straight. “And there’s no reason any of that needs to change.” He walked back over to the Comet, once again caressing the smooth varnish of the handle with the backs of his knuckles. 

“Xeno has let me read some of his writings about broomsticks,” Lucius continued, smiling slightly. “He trusts me, you know. And for my part, I agree with you: he really is quite good and may very well have a future in writing. He says the Comet has...” Lucius paused. “How did he put it? Ah yes: ’expanded my scope to a degree I previously thought impossible.’” Lucius shook his head in apparent bewilderment. “I didn’t really know what he meant, but again, it did seem to make him happy.” Lucius’ smile turned cruel. “It really would be a shame if anything changed that. I know that _I’d_ hate to be the one responsible, is all I’m trying to say.” Knowing that he had him now, Lucius extended his hand out, palm up.

Now glaring at him, Apollo stood from the workbench, dug in a pile and retrieved Pi. Without a word, he thrust it into Lucius’ outstretched hand. It was clear that he saw straight through Lucius, but at this point, it couldn’t have mattered less. “Thank you, sir,” Lucius said, his voice solemn. “I’ll return it without a scratch. You have my word as a Malfoy.”

Apollo gave Lucius a bitter smile, all while his eyes burned with loathing and no small amount of betrayal and hurt. This last gave Lucius a pang, but it was fleeting, what with Pi now in his possession and the demiguise virtually dead at his feet. “I think I hear your governess, Lucius,” Apollo said through clenched teeth. “I’ll make your farewells to Xeno. Goodbye.” With this, he practically shoved Lucius out of his home, barely giving him time to grab his own broomstick on the way out.

As Lucius hopped down the steps to the house, he found that he felt nothing but the hard confirmation of his own success. With the late afternoon sun warming his face, his Peregrine in his left hand and Pi in his right, Lucius crossed back through the Lovegoods’ ward and walked up the hill overlooking the valley. There he set both down and lay on his back, cradling his head in his hands. He watched the clouds pass overhead, imagining that they were various beasts until Robena finally arrived to pick him up. 

When Robena came, she stood over Lucius, hands on her hips. “Enjoying yourself?”

Lucius jumped up. “Very much."

Robena turned him around and brushed the grass off of his clothes. “Same time next Saturday?”

Lucius turned around. “Oh, I don’t think that will be necessary Miss March.” He retrieved his broom and Pi, looking with triumph at the latter. “I have what I came for.”


	22. Ch. 56: Isadora's; Ch. 57: Verdict

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abraxas casts another Unforgiveable Curse on Robena, making her realize that she needs to end his life before he ends hers. To that end, Robena visits Casimir, where she has an unexpected run-in with someone else that she knows. Ready now to see her convictions through, Robena leaves Isadora's. Druella prepares for her verdict from the Coterie of Oberon as to whether or not she may join. 
> 
> _As Daphne had stated in Robena’s dream, Abraxas was getting bored. Similar to his other acts of brutality, it was done casually, easily, competently, all of which drove home to Robena the negligence with which Abraxas regarded her life. It also reminded her that only one Unforgivable Curse remained for Abraxas to cast on her and that she needed to step up her plan._

FIFTY-SIX: ISADORA’S

It finally happened, just as Robena had predicted: Abraxas used the Cruciatus Curse on her and not even for a particularly good reason. As Daphne had stated in Robena’s dream, Abraxas was getting bored. Similar to his other acts of brutality, it was done casually, easily, competently, all of which drove home to Robena the negligence with which Abraxas regarded her life. It also reminded her that only one Unforgivable Curse remained for Abraxas to cast on her and that she needed to step up her plan. 

The following rainy Sunday, Robena had the day off, so she threw caution to the wind and decided to pay Casimir a visit to finalize the plan to kill Abraxas before he could kill her. She hadn't sent an owl; she didn’t dare. Ever since the beginning of her employment with the Malfoys, Robena had been very careful what she had sent out as she was positive that Abraxas was reading every single word that left her quill. 

Her Disillusion charm strong, Robena slipped through the back of Borgin and Burke’s, avoiding a half-troll with a terrible scar cleaving his heavy jaw. She emerged in the dank back alley. All of the wrought iron glistened like a raven’s wing in the steady downpour. Still, the _plink-plink_ of the drops falling on the metal and the smell of rainwater on warm pavement made the otherwise seedy area almost peaceful. Even a few unwanted perennials had started to sprout between the seams in the stones. Robena’s feet were wet, but she didn’t waste time and magical energy with a warm-air charm. She’d be inside of Isadora’s soon enough and could attend to such things. 

With her hair dripping rivulets of water into her face, Robena dropped her charm and rang the bell. “Who is it?” called a young, male voice softened with a French accent. 

“It’s Robena March. I’m here to see Casimir, if he’s available. If he’s not, I’d like to wait until he is, regardless of how long it takes.” Robena kept her tone calm, but knew that the content of her statement sounded desperate. It wasn't to be helped, really; she could feel her days spooling down like a clock spring unwinding. An alarm clock, perhaps, in pieces from Abraxas’ destruction.

There was a brief pause. “One moment, if you please, Miss March.”

After about two minutes, Robena heard the decisive snap of bolts being thrown back and then the door opened. A young man stood on the other side, presumably the owner of the voice. His beauty took Robena’s breath away, the fine planes of his face, his slim hips, his soft brown hair, and his long eyelashes. His skin even seemed to have a luminous glow that Robena wondered was some sort of fae glamour. He wasn’t at all Robena’s type, but she could not help but admire such a specimen. “Come in,” the young man said. 

“ _Comment t’appelles-tu?_ Robena asked.

“You speak French,” the young man said, smiling with straight white teeth.

“ _Oui._ ”

“My name is Adrien de la Croix,” the young man answered in English. 

The name sounded vaguely familiar to Robena, but she couldn’t place it. Adrien took Robena’s wet cloak, drew his own wand and cast the warm-air charm on it without her even asking, before handing it to a house elf to hang up. He led Robena into the main room. When Robena walked in, she gaped. All of the aquatic tanks were gone. Their blue light had been replaced with a red glow emanating from a variety of low lamps. Where grindylows once swam, generous cushions were scattered about in a variety of jewel tones. On each reclined a different being. 

Male and female humans took their leisure of course, as well as a variety of Animagi who had contrived to maintain a stasis of mid-transition, with both animal and human features. Wan, waif-like vampires sipping dark cocktails rubbed elbows with fine-boned Sylvan elves. A half-troll clothed in sheer harem pants shared a gem-encrusted hookah with a voluptuous gorgon wearing a black satin blindfold, her snakes slipping out their tongues to taste the heavy perfumed air. 

Adrien cleared his throat politely. Robena looked at him. “Mr. Mataxas is currently occupied, but I can show you to the sitting room if you wish.”

Robena took one last look at Isadora’s den and then followed Adrien down a small and narrow side hallway. Along each side were regularly-spaced black, lacquered doors, each with a highly-polished brass number. Strange noises emanated from behind the doors, sighs, moans, screams and grunts of physical effort. Robena blushed at some of them, even though she knew it was ridiculous: she was no shrinking virgin, but this level of perversion was a new experience for her. 

Adrien led Robena through an open doorway at the very end of the hall. Inside was a cozy sitting room with two deep green velveteen armchairs, the same tasteful shade as the ivory and green striped wallpaper. A gold carriage clock ticked on a polished mantelpiece, flanked by complementary candlesticks, each bearing an off-white, unlit taper. Globe lamps sitting atop finely tatted lace doilies gave the room a warm glow. “Would you like anything while you wait?” Adrien asked.

“No thank you, Adrien,” Robena answered. 

Adrien smiled and nodded once before turning to go. 

“Will—Cas—Mr. Mataxas be long, do you think?” Robena asked.

“It depends on the whims of his…company."

Robena blushed once again. “Ah." 

“Miss March will please excuse me.” Adrien nodded once more and then ducked out. 

Robena sat in one of the armchairs to wait, drumming her fingers mutely on the soft arm. She crossed her right leg over her left, and then switched them. She stood up and paced the room. Finally, unable to stand it anymore, Robena went to the door, opened it, and peered out into the hall. Between each door, a gas lamp sputtered, each one giving off a flickering light that made shadows dance in sharp relief on the deep crimson wall paper. 

Even though she knew she ought not to, Robena put one foot out into the hall, paused for a moment and then stepped out completely. Each sconce lit a gilt-framed oil painting, and it was at the first one that Robena stopped. It showed an erotic tableau, male and female, she kneeling in front of him, both naked, his hands in her tumbling golden hair, she moving eagerly in front of him. Robena averted her eyes, once again feeling rather foolish. It was nothing she hadn’t done with Francois, or even with Abraxas, but it also wasn’t why she found herself in an exotic whorehouse on a rainy Sunday. 

With little else to do, Robena continued to the next painting: two young men, one standing behind the other, the latter bent over what looked suspiciously like a Hogwarts desk. In fact, the former wore nothing but a Slytherin tie, the latter a Gryffindor tie. Robena had to grin at that one as it was clearly tongue in cheek. _I wonder if they ever switch positions,_ Robena wondered wickedly. Clearly, a Slytherin had painted the picture, but it was magical and thus could change. 

Without warning, the closest door opened and one of the room’s occupants emerged. It was a middle-aged woman, handsome, with plentiful curling black hair, which she was attempting to pin back in place with a handful of sparkling jet pins. Her face was flushed and her chest moved rapidly up and down. As she turned, Robena gasped. “Mrs. Black?” 

Druella Black did a double take, her face turning from shock to terror, before her pureblood breeding took over and she drew her chin up, adopting the haughty default expression of her kind. She nodded imperiously, putting one last pin in her hair. “Miss March.”

Robena felt a smile creep onto her face at Druella’s attempt to salvage her dignity in such a situation. “What are you doing here?” Robena asked.

Druella raised an eyebrow. “I hardly think that concerns you, Miss March.” She kept her voice cool but fear still showed in her eyes. 

Robena let her smile widen. “Does it not? I wonder if Mr. Malfoy would agree with that…”

Druella narrowed her eyes. “You wouldn’t dare.” 

Robena shrugged. “Probably not. But I would have a word with you, if you have the time.”

Druella paused for a moment. “Fine,” she huffed.

“Step into my office, Mrs. Black.” Robena stepped back and gestured with one hand into the sitting room.

Druella cut her eyes at her before walking in Robena’s direction. She didn’t sit, but stood just inside the door with her arms folded. “Now, what is it, Miss March? I don’t have all day to stand here like some sort of house elf.”

“I simply want to know one thing: would you have guardianship of Lucius, should anything happen to Abr—to Mr. Malfoy?”

Druella lifted an eyebrow. “Is something _going_ to happen to Mr. Malfoy?”

Robena gave another shrug. “I honestly couldn’t tell you, Mrs. Black. I would simply like to remind you of a conversation we had a long time ago regarding the mutual interest we have in Lucius’ life and future. I have no intention of blackmailing you, just so you know, but I had to get your attention somehow. Moreover, I think—no, I _know_ I’ve earned the right to hear from another person who has his best interest in mind what the legal procedure would be should Lucius suddenly find himself an orphan.”

Druella’s look was inscrutable. “Legally, I and my husband Cygnus would become his legal guardians,” she started slowly. “Malfoy Manor would be kept in trust under the stewardship of an appointed caretaker until Lucius reached the age of majority, at which point he could move back in or sell it, not that he would ever dream of such a thing.” Druella softened and dropped her arms. With one hand she set the left-hand candlestick straight so it perfectly matched its mate on the other side of the clock. “He would come to Blackwood Hall to live as one of our own children.” Her voice softened and her fingers remained still on the polished candlestick. “He would of course attend Hogwarts, but would return to our home for holidays and be…most welcome.” 

A weight that Robena didn’t realize she had been carrying suddenly lifted and relief flooded through her. She took a deep breath. “That is more reassuring than you can possibly know, Mrs. Black."

This statement seemed to snap Druella out of her reverie. “Yes, well…Merlin only hopes that this shall never come to pass, of course.” 

Robena inclined her head. “As you say, Mrs. Black.”

Druella looked as if she might say something, but then changed her mind.

“Were you going to ask me something?” Robena said.

“Is it true…that you saved Lucius’ life?” Druella dropped her voice. “From a siren?”

“I don’t know if I’d go _that_ far…Mr. Malfoy saved Lucius from his—that is, _the_ siren; I simply assisted with the healing spell.”

Druella mashed her lips together and shook her head, her dark eyes flinty. “How selfish can one man be to keep something that dangerous where a child can get at it?” 

“Believe me, Mrs. Black, I have asked myself the same question innumerable times.”

“You’ve been good to Lucius,” Druella said, almost as an impulse. “The Malfoys are…lucky to have you as a part of their household.”

“It’s kind of you to say, Mrs. Black.” Robena felt strangely touched by this statement. 

Just then, a knock came to the door. Casimir stood framed in the doorway, naked from the waist up, damp from sweat or seawater or something else that Robena couldn’t identify and didn’t want to. His tentacles moved languidly around the doorjamb and he looked at Druella with unbridled lust. To Robena’s surprise, Casimir’s leer had turned Druella into a schoolgirl. She blushed, looked down, and tucked her hair behind her ears. After a moment of this, she remembered herself, squaring her shoulders and straightening her spine, but by then she seemed to realize it was too late.

“Don’t hold back for _my_ benefit,” Robena said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Your secret is safe with me, from Abraxas Malfoy, or from anyone else for that matter.”

Druella glanced at Robena guiltily before she dropped all pretense of propriety and rushed to Casimir. He took her by the shoulders and pushed her against the door frame, pressing his hips to hers and kissing her on the mouth, his tentacles moving around her waist and rear end. “Casimir!” Druella finally gasped, breaking from him, her eyes moving once more to Robena, who watched the two of them with amusement. Druella tried for a haughty mien once more. “Sh-shame on you, sir.”

“Really, I don’t care,” Robena called to her.

“To Hades with it,” Druella muttered. She ran her hands over Casimir’s chest and this time kissed him, taking him by the shoulders and leaning into him.

After a moment of their canoodling, Robena finally cleared her throat. After all, she did have to get back to Malfoy Manor eventually. Casimir and Druella finally broke apart. Druella grinned and Robena reflected that she really was a lovely woman and also wondered if she could count her unguarded smiles as an adult on one hand. Druella gave Robena one more look, of pity perhaps, or warning of what was to come, Robena was not sure which, before walking down the hallway, her spine erect and her chin up.

For his part, Casimir watched Druella go before stepping into the sitting room and closing the door. “It’s always the quiet ones, you know,” he said, jerking a thumb back towards where Druella had gone.

Robena held up a hand. “Casimir, as usual, you can assume that I don’t want to know. Besides, aren’t you supposed to keep your clients' secrets?”

Casimir drew a tentacle close to his mouth, mimicking a lock and key. “How have you been faring, Robena March?” 

Robena took a deep breath. “I can waste no more time, Casimir. We need to execute our plan quite soon; Abraxas is going to kill me; I just know it.”

“You just know it?”

Robena looked at the floor. “He used the Cruciatus Curse. No provocation, no warning, just drew his wand, cast the spell, and then stood back and watched. We were both naked at the time.” She looked back at Casimir. “I’ll not paint you a clearer picture than that; you can use your filthy imagination.”

Casimir now was the one to hold up a hand. “No need, Miss March. When did you have in mind?” 

“When the moon wanes completely.”

“Ah yes, a dark time for committing dark deeds. I always forget how much these theatrics thrill you wizardkind mortals.” 

“Can you be ready?” Robena asked, amazed at how steady her voice was.

Casimir looked at her with respect in his dark eyes. “Follow me, Miss March.” He turned and moved down the hall, walking quickly so that Robena had to speed walk to keep up to him. At the door marked with the number _12_. Casimir pressed one of his tentacles to the door, matching 12 suckers to 12 corresponding dots. The dots lit up blue and the door swung open. Casimir moved through and started to descend down a set of stone steps set in a spiral.

Down and down they went and as Casimir stepped on each new stair it lit in the same blue as the dots on the door, illuminating Casimir from below, throwing his otherworldly shadow on the wall. In seeing it, yet again Robena felt the tickle of the familiar; she had seen that shadow once before, but could not place where. After a few more turns, they emerged in a great stone room. Casimir snapped his fingers and the room suddenly lit with the same strange blue lights. Robena noticed that the same tanks from the main room now lined the walls down here. 

In the center of the room lay a perfectly round pool filled with some pitch black liquid that reflected back the lights of the rest of the room. “Is that… _your_ ink?” Robena asked.

Casimir smirked at her. “Sure,” he said. “Why not?” He turned from her and said a word of power in no language that existed within realm of Merlin as far as Robena could tell. It was an ancient tongue that Robena knew was beyond her ken to understand or ever pronounce and gave her a tickle in the base of her skull not unlike what she felt when Daphne compelled her. With the word, the ink cleared, turning the pool a bright and sun-dappled blue. “Look…” Casimir gestured across the pool. 

Robena felt her breath catch. What she beheld was the pool at the bottom of the Malfoy brook, the woods stretching beyond where the grindylow tanks and walls had stood just before. 

Casimir’s smirk turned into a grin. “This is nothing, Miss March. Look behind you.” Casimir said another word of power and when Robena turned around, she could see a beach stretching behind her and the pool had become a tide lapping at her feet. 

“Where in the name of Merlin is that?”

“Any beach in the world,” Casimir said with evident pride. 

“All right, but why?”

Casimir’s face fell. “I _really_ thought you’d be more awed, Miss March."

“Erm…”

Casimir sighed impatiently. “I can use this room and my…ink to connect any two bodies of water in any realm. Knowing that, are you sure you’re not impressed?”

“Wow…” Robena looked at the sparkling white sand to one side and the tranquil forest to the other.

“That’s as I thought." 

“What actually _are_ you, Casimir?” Robena asked.

“Just a simple pleasure-broker, Miss March.”

“Very well,” Robena sighed, giving up. “On the day, how do I let you know that I need you to open a portal from Malfoy Manor to…is it Florida…or the Bahamas?”

Casimir’s handsome face split with a grin. “Oh, I’m not taking you and Daphne to Florida or the Bahamas, Miss March.” 

“Where then?”

“You’ll just have to trust me on that one.”

Robena frowned. She didn’t like that answer, but she also knew she had little choice. If she killed the most prominent and influential wizard in England, she would indeed have to disappear without a trace. She and Casimir finalized the plan over the next few minutes and then Robena climbed the countless stairs back up to the brothel, before retracing her steps back out of Borgin and Burke’s. 

As she Disapparated back to Malfoy Manor, it occurred to Robena that she had completely forgotten to mention her meeting with Daphne. Her stress level was through the roof as it was and with Abraxas’ latest escalation, the encounter had completely slipped her mind. Robena set her jaw as she realized that Casimir would figure it all out soon enough and besides, she had more important things to worry about in the immediate future. 

It was time for Abraxas Malfoy to die.

FIFTY-SEVEN: VERDICT

On the day of the May Consortium of the Coterie of Oberon, the rain broke for a few hours in the afternoon. The sun even emerged from between the clouds, giving the walled garden at Blackwood Hall a newly-washed look. Iridescent droplets of water formed on the flared petals of the purple and burgundy irises and when the droplets had gained sufficient weight, they chased each other down the knife-like leaves. 

All the stone work within the garden had darkened in the rain, but Druella was not interested in sitting on the benches even if they had been dry. She had come out to clear her head from the noise and chaos inside. It was nothing above and beyond the normal, but Bella had lorded her Hogwarts admission over the heads of her two younger sisters one too many times and finally it was Narcissa, shockingly, who had snapped and pulled Bella’s hair. Bella, never one to take anything lying down, had retaliated by tearing one of Narcissa’s music books. The entire affair ended with both girls writing lines, sulking in separate corner desks in the nursery-turned-classroom.

Druella left them to their punishment only after threatening them enough to ensure compliance, shaky though the peace between them might be. Now Druella wandered the pathways of cauldron-gray flagstones set geometrically among various shades of gravel. Dark emerald ivy climbed the interior walls of the garden to migrate gracefully up the southern wall of Blackwood Hall itself. By all rights, the house should have gone to Jade when Irma and Pollux gave it up, being the eldest of the siblings of their branch of the Ancient and Noble House of Black, but she had relinquished the claim when she married Orion and set up her household in the great townhouse of 12 Grimmauld Place. 

Druella walked through the trellis, expertly woven from cane by their house elves and now overtaken by the climbing rose Elven Silk, a pure white rose whose scent had been bred out a century ago to accommodate long canes, multiple bloom cycles within the season, and resistance to pests. Growing complementary to the rose was Hortensia’s clematis, a luminescent climbing flower whose scent more than made up for Elven Silk’s mundane aroma. Druella gently ran a finger along the slender vine just starting to wend its way up the trellis. Although it was too early for either flower to bloom—that would happen mid-June—they would look spectacular when they both erupted into blossom at the same time.

On the other side of the trellis, Druella breathed in deeply and closed her eyes. The walls of Blackwood Hall thankfully muffled any sound of bickering coming from within. All Druella could hear was the wind in the trees beyond the walled garden and the buzzing of the few early honeybees brave enough to take advantage of the break in the weather. Already she felt calmer. It was not a good day to be anything but calm, with such a momentous decision to be made that evening. Of course it was a decision the outcome of which Druella had no control, but that reality did nothing to make Druella relax.

She opened her eyes and looked at the sky, shielding her eyes with one hand. The sun was dipping back behind a cloud. Once again the sky was darkening and to the north and heavy clouds pregnant with more rain were rolling in. Before Druella could go back inside, fat raindrops started splashing onto the flagstones at her feet. Druella sighed and took the shortest path back into the house before the sprinkle turned into a downpour.

Once inside, she handed her green cut-velvet shawl to a house elf and steeled herself to go and check on her children once again. To Druella’s surprise, all three sat on the floor of the library, cutting up old magazines to make a collage. Their three heads were put together, Bella’s unruly masses of black curls, Andromeda’s graceful and soft brown ringlets, and Narcissa’s stick-straight coffee-colored hair. Druella smiled despite herself. Her children did get along with each other on seldom occasions, but generally when they didn’t think Druella was there. 

For just a moment, her mind added Lucius into the mix, sitting near them reading perhaps, or playing the baby grand piano adjacent to them. The thought called to mind the very strange and vaguely threatening conversation Druella had had with Robena March not a few days prior. As a matter of fact, Druella had not given the conversation a moment’s thought until then. 

It was frightfully bad luck that Robena had caught her and Casimir, and if indeed Abraxas knew about it, it would not do anything good for Druella. Still, Druella didn’t think Robena would tell him, based on the reports that Robena had unwittingly given Druella when she was clothed in Francois’ body. Druella was so thrown from being caught that it never even occurred to her to question Robena as to what _she_ had been doing waiting for Casimir. Surely it was not for the same reason that Druella had visited; it couldn’t be. Robena may have been a woman who liked a tumble, but there was no way she could afford Casimir on her governess’ salary. Those multi-talented tentacles did not come cheap.

Druella tiptoed backwards out of the library and walked back down the hall towards her own room. Failing to question Robena and indeed not turning the entire conversation onto her had been foolish on Druella’s part. But she had been flustered not just by Robena’s presence, but what she herself and Casimir had just done. Even now, Druella blushed at the filthy thoughts of all that those tentacles could actually _do._

Ergo, when Robena caught her, Druella had entered full-on damage control mode. The other thing that rankled Druella about the entire affair was that Casimir prided himself on his discretion, so how was it that anyone had caught them? _Unless it wasn’t an accident,_ Druella thought. It certainly brought up the question of what Casimir’s stake, if anything, would possibly be in Robena and Druella meeting. After pondering the possibilities for a few moments, Druella gave up. It was clear that Casimir was playing a more subtle game than even she could fathom.

She climbed the marble staircase slowly. It wasn’t as grand as the Malfoy’s; nothing about Blackwood Hall was, but it rose above a polished marble floor, a pale rose color shot through with gold and white veins. Druella’s room was at the end of the hallway, with its own terrace. Of course there was no benefit in going out there now, what with the rain now falling steadily. But Druella could look out of the window at the gardens, darkening now with the weather and the advancing afternoon.

And why did Robena ask about what would happen to Lucius in the event of Abraxas’ death? The implications of that question were ominous. Not that Druella had ever pegged Miss March as a killer, nor any Mudblood governess for that matter, but at least implicitly she seemed to think that Abraxas was in danger. On the other hand, the March girl had shown a surprising amount of spirit and defiance in both of the prior conversations that Druella had had with her: the one in the portrait room and the one in which Robena thought that Druella was Francois. 

Druella sat at her vanity and picked up a hairbrush, pulling it through her dark hair. If Abraxas pushed her hard enough, pushed _any_ strong, motivated witch hard enough, there’s no telling what she might do. She put the brush down and looked at herself in the mirror. Although Druella’s beauty may have faded over time, she was still striking, her eyes dark and piercing, her air one of command. There were lines in her face, of course, and now the two between her brows were the most prominent. Druella put her fingers on those lines, rubbing gently, as if she could massage away the years of worrying about children, being married to a man who would never really be hers, and a million other stresses and heartaches, both little and large, of being a pureblooded matriarch.

Despite all of this, Druella had a difficult time believing that Robena’s life had been any easier, just not as long. _Does any witch have it easy?_ she wondered. _Especially a witch of any pedigree with a close relationship with any Malfoy?_ The question that most concerned Druella regarding Robena March was whether or not she should pass onto Abraxas what Robena had asked about Lucius’ fostering. 

Druella dropped her hand, frowning at the reddened area now accompanying the two now-deeper lines. The truth of it was that she really wasn’t in the mood to do Abraxas Malfoy any favors. _At least wait until the results of the vote,_ she resolved to herself, nodding firmly at her reflection in confirmation. _Even if the information might save his life?_ her conscience poked at her. _Even so,_ she decided, setting her mouth in a line. Besides, it might lead to awkward questions that would most assuredly involve Druella’s lying to Abraxas of the exact circumstances in which she and Robena had had the conversation in the first place. No, it was best at least to see how the evening would play out prior to saying anything to him. 

A few hours later, dressed in a black velvet robe trimmed with burgundy satin and embroidered kid gloves, Druella met Cygnus in the hallway to Apparate to Malfoy Manor. As before, Cygnus had briefed Druella on matters of Coterie etiquette, but of course this time Druella was coming as herself. Abraxas met them at the head of the stairs. He didn’t kiss her hand this time and for her part, Druella didn’t try and shake his with the Coterie greeting. Both seemed wary of the other and it manifested itself as a veneer of icy politeness over mutual distrust. Abraxas simply nodded at her and said, “Druella.” 

She returned his nod. “Abraxas.” Both were solemn, no snide comments or barely-veiled innuendos left either of their lips this time. Abraxas led both Cygnus and Druella down the interminable stone staircase the Malfoy dungeon. Cygnus broke off at the bottom and Abraxas led Druella to the second side room, the one that had secreted Jade on Druella’s prior visit. He held the door for Druella and she slipped past him into the room. 

“Do you need anything while you’re waiting?” Abraxas asked. 

Druella shook her head. “No thank you.” This perfunctory back and forth was strange, but Druella shrugged it off as business. Things would be settled one way or another after the meeting was over and Druella felt marginally better about Abraxas when she remembered that he wouldn’t be voting anyway. 

“Very well,” Abraxas said. “I am going to leave you with some company, if you don’t mind.” He didn’t wait for an answer, but stepped aside and let someone else into the room. It was a lad of about eighteen, with a pocked face and a vacant expression, wearing a roughspun white robe, tied at the waist with a piece of rope. 

“Marcus Carrow,” Druella said, recognizing him 

Marcus looked at her dimly before he nodded. “Mrs. Black." 

Abraxas let himself out, leaving Druella with Marcus. She knew Marcus, barely, having avoided the society of the Carrows to the extent that she could. They were of the Sacred 28, technically, but rumor had it that they had interbred too closely and for too long, so their members were by turns cruel, dull, dim-witted, incestuous, or all of the above. Marcus was no exception, leaning against the arm of the couch and staring into space with his mouth open. 

Having little to do as it was until the Coterie meeting was over, Druella spoke up. “All finished with Hogwarts, Marcus?” she said, injecting some warmth into her voice.. 

“Yes, ma’am.” Marcus sniffed and then wiped his nose on his forearm. 

“And your NEWTS as well? 

Marcus shook his head. “Didn’t get none, ma’am.” 

Druella did her best to keep the sneer off of her face. It was clear by his garb alone that the only reason for his presence was as a prospective initiate to the Coterie, but they would have to be as dim-witted as the rest of the Carrows to actually let him in. Thus having exhausted her entire repertoire of small talk with such a person, Druella sat in one of the chairs and tapped her fingers on the velour arm as the minutes crawled by. 

After what seemed like a century, the door opened and Francois Selwyn came in. “Mrs. Black, they’re ready for you,” he said, his voice low. Druella noted that he wouldn’t meet her eyes. Perhaps he had heard about what Druella had done. Druella made a mental note to surreptitiously ask him about it later. Now that she noticed, however, Francois didn’t look well overall: his skin was sallow and almost green, even in the dim light, and he had deep circles beneath his eyes. 

Francois led her past the cubbies, all empty of robes, and into the cavernous ritual space. The magic circle was gone, which made sense as this was a meeting of governance rather than of ritual. Or perhaps that part would come later. The members stood in rows to each side. This time, Abraxas stood behind a table draped with a black cloth embroidered with arcane symbols. Instead of wearing a rough tabard, or nothing, he wore a crimson caftan, its black-trimmed hood down, and his ornate stole of office draped about his shoulders. Orion and Cygnus flanked him. The former smiled at her slightly, his gaze open and dispassionate; the latter, like Francois, wouldn’t meet her eyes and for the first time, Druella felt a sliver of foreboding. As briefed to do, she stood on a square stone set precisely in the center of the room, about six feet from the table. 

Abraxas looked at her with detachment. “Druella Rosier Black, you are here as an applicant, seeking membership into the Coterie of Oberon, in exception to your sex. Is this correct?” 

“It is, Archon.” She didn’t want to use the honorific without knowing the outcome of the vote, but she also didn’t want to embarrass Cygnus any more than she had to. 

“And that if you were inducted, the intention would be to open the Coterie of Oberon to other witches.” 

“That is correct, Archon.” 

“Are you thus ready to hear the results of the body public’s fair and impartial vote on this matter?” 

“I am, Archon.” 

“And are you prepared to abide by this decision, accepting it as final and irrevocable?” 

Tears pricked at Druella’s eyes. She knew that Abraxas needn’t speak another solitary syllable: Druella already knew the outcome. She paused for a moment to collect herself. “I am, Archon.” 

“The body public has denied your request. You are henceforth barred from the Coterie of Oberon. If you speak of anything that you have seen or heard in this sacred space, your memory will be forfeit for a first infraction and then your life for a second. May it be.” 

“ _May it be,_ ” dozens of male voices echoed in synchronization. 

Druella blinked hard, the candles becoming blurred. She let one tear fall and then turned and walked away, not giving Abraxas another look or word, nor anyone else. Just before she got to the door, something white in the shadows caught her eye. It was a marble statue, a proud woman with what looked like broken-off wings and a dark splotch on one of her arms. Druella’s eyes widened, but she did not allow herself any other reaction at seeing Abraxas’ siren in the dungeon. She would have given anything to take a closer look, but it was unfortunately impossible. 

Instead, she walked back to the room and traded places with Marcus Carrow. After a few more minutes, Francois came for her again and when he opened the door, Druella heard the sound of boyish, jubilant whooping coming from the hallway. She could feel her heart beating faster and her shoulders tensing at the one and only thing that could mean: that Marcus had been voted in just as she had been voted out. 

As soon as Francois set foot in the room, Druella struck like a snake. She slammed the door behind him and threw the bar down. “What are you--?” Francois asked. 

“What happened in there?” Druella placed her body squarely between Francois and the exit. 

Francois backed away from her, into the room, fear widening his brown eyes and a fine sheen of sweat beading on his forehead. “Mrs. Black, you know I can’t tell you,” he protested, putting his hands up. 

Druella drew her wand, his weakness disgusting her. “ _Imperio,_ ” she cast before Francois had a chance to react. 

His eyes glazed over and his mouth turned up in a hazy sort of smile. 

“How did my vote go, Francois?” She kept her wand pointed at him as he swayed lightly on his feet. 

“Split evenly down the middle,” he answered dreamily. 

Druella’s heart flipped over. That meant that only one very specific thing had happened: Abraxas had exercised his right as Archon to cast the tie-breaking vote and had voted against her. Druella felt herself starting to shake as tears of frustration and anger now sprung to her eyes. _How dare he?_ she thought. _Who in the name of Merlin does he think he is?_

Francois’ smile had faded a little and some of the alertness was coming back to his eyes and Druella realized she was letting her concentration over the curse waver in her anger. She reined in her focus and Francois’ faraway look returned, “How about Marcus’ vote?” Druella asked. 

“Split down the—“ 

“ _Obliviate!_ ” Druella didn’t even let him finish. She released the bolt and whipped the door open so hard it banged into the wall behind it. She then leaned against the hallway for a moment, shaking with the power of her wrath. She could have cursed every member of the Coterie, especially Abraxas. She marched down the hall, her wand still drawn. Druella wasn’t sure what she meant to do, but luckily, she never found out. 

Cygnus, who knew her better than any other wizard there was savvy enough to head her off at the pass, catching her by both arms just as she emerged from the hallway and pulling her away from the dungeon, securing her arms so she couldn’t bring her wand up. The other mercy was that he was the only one who had come out. He dragged her bodily up the first turn of stairs and then pinned her against the wall. Druella could feel her heart beat against Cygnus body and all of a sudden, she collapsed against him, letting out the sobs that had threatened to escape all night. 

“There, there,” Cygnus said gently. He turned her around so that she faced him and she buried her face in his ritual caftan. “Shhhh…” He stroked her hair. “It’s over, dear.” With his arms around her, Cygnus rocked her as if she were a child. “It’s all done.” 

“Just tell me one thing,” Druella murmured, her voice muffled. 

“Anything, dear,” Cygnus said soothingly. 

“When is Marcus’ Silencing of the Siren ritual to be?” Druella pulled back somewhat to look up into Cygnus’ face. 

His forehead crinkled with bemusement. “Why do you wish to know?” 

“I just do,” Druella said. “Can you please just tell me? I won’t ask anything else, I promise." 

Cygnus paused for a moment, wavering. “Nothing else?” 

“Not a single question.” 

Cygnus sighed. “In two days’ time.” 

Druella disentangled herself. “I’m going back home." 

Cygnus tilted his head to the side. “Are you quite certain, dear?” 

Druella nodded. “There’s nothing more for me here." 

Cygnus leaned in and gave her a kiss on the top of her head. “Very well.” 

Druella turned to go back up the stairs. 

“And Ella?" 

She turned back. 

“I’m sorry…about all of this.” Cygnus gestured awkwardly back down the stairs to where the rest of the Coterie no doubt awaited him. “For what it’s worth, I voted for you." 

Druella shook her head. “Mustn’t talk to me about Coterie business,” she said, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice. 

“Don’t be like that, Ella,” Cygnus said plaintively. 

Druella put one hand on her hip. “Pray tell, how _should_ I be, Cygnus?” 

“You know…” He drifted off, now looking down at his shoes. 

“Silent?” Druella snapped. An idea occurred to her just then and she made her voice low and deliberate. “Like a siren, perhaps?” 

Cygnus looked at her sharply and Druella raised her eyebrows, waiting and willing Cygnus to understand. After a moment, Cygnus’ eyes took on a knowing look. “Yes…” he said slowly, a smile warming his face. “Silent like a siren.” 

Druella returned his smile with a genuine one of her own. “You’re so good to me, dear." 

“And don’t you forget it.” Cygnus gave her a wink. He pounded the stone wall of the staircase lightly with his fist, his eyes glinting with mischief before he veritably skipped down the stairs and out of sight. 

Feeling the best she had felt since setting foot on the Malfoy estate, Druella walked up the rest of the stairs, the idea of her prospective vengeance warming her all the way down to her toes. She was absolutely confident that Abraxas would pay for what he had done to her, and with Cygnus to help her, Druella would soon have her revenge. 


	23. Ch. 58: Choice; Ch. 59: Nature

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius takes the Pi device to the large drawing room for a test run with the demiguise. This reminds Lucius of Apollo and so he decides to give Apollo a gift in return. When Lucius goes to the conservatory to find what he has in mind, he instead comes across Abraxas and Robena in a situation that forces Lucius to choose between the two of them once and for all. Later in the evening, Abraxas summons Lucius for a chat about the event and its implications. 
> 
> _He frowned. Lucius hated feeling guilty; it was such a useless, counterproductive emotion. He leaned over and picked up Pi, turning it slowly in his hands. Even though Apollo had been kind to him, he had something that Lucius needed, and Lucius knew deep down that if he had it all to do over again, he would have done no differently._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things get intense for Lucius once again. *sigh* Poor kiddo...

FIFTY-EIGHT: CHOICE

A few days after obtaining Pi from Apollo Lovegood, Lucius sat in his room fiddling with it, switching it on and watching his various permutations do things before turning the machine back off again. There was not a doubt in Lucius’ mind that Pi would serve his purpose. Without knowing it, Apollo had created the perfect invention for catching a demiguise: a machine that could overload the creature's pre-cognitive vision. Lucius knew that such trickery would not work for very long, but then again, he didn’t need it to. Really, he only needed to hoodwink the demiguise for a few precious seconds, long enough to throw a postal bag over its head to capture the beast. 

The only thing that Lucius was having a difficult time figuring out was how to lure it into a place where he could actually deploy his plan. Lucius paused for a moment, appraising the machine, currently in its off position. On an impulse, he picked it up and carried it out into the hallway. He moved off to the large drawing room, the place that the demiguise had historically seemed to favor. Malfoy Manor was fairly tranquil, although there were always a few house elves around dusting statuary or polishing armor. 

Robena was off somewhere. They had had lessons together in the morning and would resume later in the afternoon, but for now, Lucius had an hour or so to himself. Robena had been acting strange, even more than usual, more distracted and melancholy, and Lucius wondered just how much he would actually get out of this afternoon’s lesson with her in such a state. Maybe he would try and come up with some way to cheer her. The day was too wet for a walk out of doors, but perhaps Lucius could think of something else.

Re-focusing on his current task, Lucius sat down on the Oriental rug in the center of the drawing room. Next to him a large floor clock ticked, creating the only sound in the otherwise still room. Lucius set the machine down once more and switched it on, letting his duplicate stand up and pace about before another joined him, sitting on one of the couches. These copies of Lucius made no noise as they went about their various tasks, demonstrating all of the choices that Lucius himself could make, whether they were reasonable or outlandish. Lucius backed away from the machine and rolled under the couch. 

He didn’t have to wait long. After a few minutes, he heard a shuffling noise above the ticking clock. There was a brief shimmer in the air and the demiguise appeared. Lucius held his breath. As he had predicted, the creature had fixed its eyes on the manifestations of Lucius coming out of Pi like the cards in an Exploding Snap deck. As quietly as he could, Lucius reached into his pocket and brought out his Boomerang Ball. With a quick snap of his wrist, he threw it, knocking over an unlit lamp on one of the marble-topped tables. 

The sudden noise startled the animal and it disappeared instantly before Lucius heard it scamper from the room. Once assured that it was gone, Lucius crept back out from under the couch and crawled on his elbows back to the machine before shutting it off. He smiled, satisfied that the machine in and of itself was enough of a lure to draw the demiguise to him and that he had scared the demiguise off before its curiosity was sated. That would make it more likely that not only would it return next time, but it might stick around for longer. 

His proof of concept now secure, Lucius stood and retrieved his Boomerang Ball. He then walked over to the table and righted the lamp. As he did, he noticed a book lying next to it: _Fauna Esoterica._ Lucius sat down in the adjacent armchair and flipped open the cover, once again reading the inscription. His mother’s words filled him with a sense of ambiguous loss. Rationally it made no sense that he should miss his mother, someone he had only known for a few minutes, and of course far too long ago to have any recollection of her aside from her rosy portrait in the Malfoy gallery. 

Lucius thumbed through the book until he found the section on the demiguise. There was no way he was going to put himself through the ponderous, meandering chapter again, but one line caught his eye once more: _The demiguise knows that all is possible due to its spiritual affinity with the number zero._ Lucius stroked his temple with two fingers thinking. _Zero. Circles. Apollo._ Of course now it all made sense to him that Apollo had been the wizard had to lead him to the demiguise.

Lucius had deliberately avoided thinking about Apollo in any capacity since seeing him last, but now that he had a moment of quiet with just himself, a small and cryptic book, a magical machine and the memory of the kind man who had given it to him, Lucius felt a twinge of guilt. He frowned. Lucius hated feeling guilty; it was such a useless, counterproductive emotion. He leaned over and picked up Pi, turning it slowly in his hands. Even though Apollo had been kind to him, he had something that Lucius needed, and Lucius knew deep down that if he had it all to do over again, he would have done no differently.

The entire event called to mind a story that Robena had once told him, a fable. It had been over the winter, when there was little to do besides study, practice piano, and hide out in the drawing room waiting to catch a glimpse of the demiguise. It was on a Saturday, a day with nothing particular planned. Lucius was so consumed with ennui that he sought Robena out and pestered her relentlessly to tell him a story, anything to break the tedium of the day. Finally Robena yielded, holding up a hand. “All right,” she snapped. “I’ll tell you one although you hardly deserve it.”

Lucius smiled at her gloatingly and then settled in to listen.

Robena stood, always more comfortable delivering her fables as if from a stage so she could gesture or move her body to give the tale its necessary resonance. “There was once a thunderbird, flying high over the cliffs and valleys of an ancient land. The ground opened in many places into great chasms a mile or more deep. Some had rivers at the bottom of water, some had rivers of fire, and some had rivers of jagged rock. It was at the edge of one of these chasms that the thunderbird spied a basilisk, a youngling, newly hatched and separated from its parent. It was so young that its eyes had barely even begun to open. Thus largely blind, it was slithering towards one of the edges of the cliff even as the thunderbird watched.

“The young basilisk gave a cry of distress. More curious than anything else, the thunderbird circled down and landed near the basilisk. ‘Who’s there?’ the basilisk said, its small voice full of vulnerability and fear. ‘I am a thunderbird, young one,’ said the thunderbird. ‘Can you please help me, kind thunderbird?’ the basilisk pleaded. ‘My mother is on the other side of this cliff and I must get to her. Can you please lift me in your talons and take me to her?’ The thunderbird felt pity for the creature but still, she was not naïve to the nature of the basilisk. ‘Sorry, child,’ she answered. ‘If I carry you in my talons, you shall surely bite me. Such a risk, I cannot take.’

“ ‘That I will not do,’ the basilisk promised. ‘Please, I just need to get across the cliff.’ With great misgivings, the thunderbird eventually agreed, picking up the basilisk in her talons with utmost care and winging up into the bright sunlight. But, just as they cleared the edge of the cliff, the basilisk whipped its head around and sunk its venomous fangs into the back of the thunderbird’s shin. The thunderbird gave out a great cry. Thunder and lightning burst from its body as the sky darkened. ‘What have you done?’ she asked, even as she felt her strength ebbing as the venom worked its way through her veins to stop her heart. Her wings beat slower and she started to lose altitude. ‘Don’t you see that you’ve killed us both?’ 

“As they dropped towards the fiery depths in the chasm, plummeting and spinning, the basilisk said, ‘It’s in my nature. I was born a basilisk and so shall I always be. I shall always bite, envenomate, and kill, even if it means my own destruction.’ With this proclamation, both the thunderbird and the basilisk fell, down and down, before dying in the fiery pit below.” Lucius had found this ending quite unsatisfactory. He folded his arms and asked Robena how the basilisk had gotten across the chasm in the first place. Robena had then become annoyed with him and tried to explain that the story was allegorical and so the logistics didn’t matter. Lucius hadn’t understood at the time, but now he was starting to, not just the story itself, but why Robena had specifically told it to him. 

Lucius shook off the uneasy feeling that both the memory and the story had engendered in him and stood up, the machine in his hand. He knew what would assuage his guilt: providing Apollo with some sort of compensation, not money, but some object or artifact that he would appreciate. Lucius looked around for inspiration. His eyes lit on the book and he considered it for just a moment, but decided that with it being the one and only remembrance he had of his mother, he couldn’t possibly give it up. He tapped his foot on the carpet, thinking. 

Just then, Lucius remembered something random that he and Robena had come across while cleaning and organizing the conservatory, that bizarre _Music of the Spheres: Chants to…blah, blah, blah…something…_ Lucius couldn’t remember the entire title. It didn’t matter in any event; it seemed like the ideal gift for Apollo as well as the perfect balm to soothe Lucius’ conscience over so shamelessly manipulating both of the Lovegoods. _Besides,_ Lucius thought, standing, _I’d just as soon not burn that bridge altogether if I can help it. Seems a waste._

Lucius made a quick detour to his room to return the machine before heading to the conservatory. Because he and Robena had so recently organized it, this would be a quick and easy errand. He reached the conservatory in no time, but when he did, Lucius found the door closed. This unexpected state of affairs brought Lucius up short. The door to the conservatory was never closed; the space was communal, not private. If his father wanted privacy, he went to his study and shut the door and to the best of Lucius’ knowledge, the only door that Robena ever closed was the door to her own room when she needed much-deserved time alone.

Lucius put his ear to the door and heard two voices. The first was his father’s voice and even though Lucius couldn’t make out the words that he was speaking, his speech was calm, rational, as if giving some sort of reasonable explanation. The other voice made all the hair on Lucius’ arms stand up. It was definitely Robena, but she wasn’t speaking at all, just crying or pleading. Lucius’ heart sped up. 

Every instinct in Lucius’ pragmatic mind told him not to open the door, but to turn around, to walk away, and to forget that he had heard anything. He closed his eyes for a moment. Immediately images of Robena flooded his memory: bruises around her mouth, bruises on her shoulders, _leave it alone Lucius_ , her eyes staring intently into his, _…your strongest oath,_ and lies upon lies upon lies. Oath or no, he had to do it. His throat dry, Lucius opened his eyes and cracked the door. 

The first thing he heard was the all-too-familiar sound of his father’s hand striking someone else’s flesh. That brought another cry from Robena. Abraxas spoke again, his voice now hoarse and strained, as if making some sort of physical effort. But even this could not hide the contempt that permeated his speech: “…no point in protesting, as this is no less than my due, Miss March.” Some shuffling noises occurred then that Lucius couldn’t make sense out of. “In any event, I should think you’d be rather more grateful. As a witch of your deplorable blood status, this is the closest to purity you could ever hope to be.”

Lucius had heard enough. Throwing caution to the wind, he pushed the door open entirely and walked in, not even trying to hide. And there they were: Robena leaning over the table and Abraxas positioned behind her, one hand on the back of her neck keeping her in place and the other firmly on her hip. Both saw Lucius at the exact same time. “Lucius…” Robena whispered, her green eyes full of shame, terror, and relief all at the same time. “Please…” 

Abraxas did not let Robena up, not even with Lucius there. If anything, he gripped her harder. Robena winced. In that instant, Lucius knew that this was it: the event that would force him to choose definitively between his father and Robena. Deep in his conscience, Lucius knew that he possessed the power to stop what was happening. He wasn’t sure exactly what that was, but whatever Abraxas was doing to Robena, it was unspeakably awful but also something that he had no intention of stopping of his own free will. This was Lucius’ chance: the scene confirmed all of his suspicions and he was finally in a position to do something about it. _I’m worried about you, Miss March,_ he had said to Robena. _Lucius, if you care for me—I do, Miss March, I really do—_ Now it was time for him to demonstrate the courage borne of these convictions.

 _So, why can’t I do it?_ Lucius wondered in agony, his feet secured to the floor as if someone had placed a Permanent Sticking Charm upon them. He looked at his father, who regarded him only with annoyance at his poorly-timed conservatory errand. Still, Abraxas must have caught something deeper in Lucius’ expression, because he finally spoke. “It’s not a choice, Lucius,” was all he said, as if reading Lucius’ mind. Abraxas said it without a trace of anger, spite, or sarcasm: just as an iron-clad statement of fact.

 _Sweet Merlin, he’s right,_ Lucius thought. The realization felt like someone had emptied a bucket of icy water over his head. Like such a freezing deluge would have been, Abraxas’ words served as enough of a catalyst to mobilize Lucius and he turned around and walked out, shutting the door quietly behind him. With the door now separating Lucius from Abraxas and Robena, the noises continued as if he had never even walked in. 

In a dreamlike state, Lucius wandered back to his own room. Once back there, he lay on his bed on his back, staring at the crack in the ceiling. Thinking about the rats that he used to believe would come out of that crack, Lucius closed his eyes. As soon as he did, the scene of his father and Robena popped into his mind, repeating over and over again. _Lucius…please._ The look in Robena’s eyes. _It’s not a choice._ The sound of his father striking, hurting, and dominating the person to whom Lucius was closest within Malfoy Manor. _Lucius…please…It’s not a choice. Lucius…please…It’s not a choice._ Again and again it played.

 _I should have helped her,_ Lucius thought. Tears came to his eyes as he thought about the look of entreaty and desperation on Robena’s face. _It’s not a choice, Lucius._ Abraxas had always hammered home just how important family loyalty was and Lucius had demonstrated that today, cementing his choice, picking his father and in fact the entire Malfoy dynasty over Robena. _Then why do I feel so terrible?_ he wondered. _Lucius…please…Lucius…please._ Whether he had done the right thing or not, Lucius knew those two words from Robena would haunt him for the rest of his life.

FIFTY-NINE: NATURE

_Bright. Hot. Silent. And dry, so very dry. Why can’t I see anything else? No shelter anywhere. Where is mother? Mother. Mother! The slow beating of giant wings brings a welcoming, cool breeze, a drop in the air pressure, and the smell of ozone. A storm? No, it’s some sort of being. I can sense that at least. Who’s there? I am/she is. A thunderbird. Relief descends on me like a soft blanket…bird means wings means freedom means Mother. Carry me. But those talons…can rip…can tear…can liberate. Yet I have to try. Please. I’ll not bite you…I…please._

_At length, she surrenders…shows me undeserved mercy. Talons designed to slash, incapacitate, and kill cradle me so gently, so tenderly, as if I am back in the egg. Our mutual trust is like that egg: a circle at once fragile and nurturing. Now I am weightless. Shaded, cool…protected. Her heart beats steadily, slowly, reassuringly…all around me…filling my whole being with her very life upon every pulsation._

_But my fangs lie in wait. Although I’ve never used them, I know that they are there, sharp…effective…deadly. And ready. I must bite…inject my venom. I said that I wouldn’t. But, really, why wouldn’t I? It would be just…so…easy and so natural. All that power, coiled, tightly wound…ready. It is in my nature…it_ is _my nature. And ignoring my nature…it’s not a choice. It’s. Not. A. Choice. Without thinking, my attack falls more swiftly than my entertaining the thought of doing so ever could. My ancient and inevitable instinct strikes with fatal precision. I could no more avoid it than I could keep the tide from retreating into the ocean._

_A scream splits the sky. A mighty crash of thunder rends the very fabric of the moment and a flash of lightning dwarfs the sun in its brightness. But it opens my eyes. And now I can see with a perfect and awful clarity. I am falling, falling. What have you done? She asks me, sounding so hurt…so betrayed. Lucius…you’ve killed us both. The chasm rises on either side, moving past me at breakneck speed. Even though my eyes work, nothing fills them but reddish-brown motion blur of the cliffs walling the deep gorge. And so I look down instead, all while knowing that…my nature…myself…has destroyed my protector and still she holds onto me, never letting me fall without her, even as her heart beats slower…slower…_

_Below lies not fire, not water, but a painting, a picture, a portrait…of Mother, pale, beautiful Mother, her long white-blonde hair streaming about her. I fall straight towards her, closer and closer, unable to stop, tearing a hole straight through her center as I finally land. The impact rends the fabric of her garments and the very canvas upon which she is painted; its warp and weft shred like cobwebs. They give way like her dreams of family and of holding me more than once…all are destroyed in my wake, leaving nothing but the smell of blood and of roses._

_Now she is above me, Mother, but I continue to fall. She looks down upon me as I plummet into blackness. There is a hole in her abdomen where I broke through…broke her…blood spreading outward on the canvas. Still she smiles. I love you, Lucius. But it’s getting darker. She is getting smaller, even as the blood spreads towards her unwinding heart, making her fade into oblivion. Destroying her has destroyed me has destroyed her…around and around in a circle with neither beginning nor end…Now it’s getting darker…darker…blackness…and then nothingness…and silence._

Lucius woke up fully clothed in his bed, his pillow wet with sweat. His room had dimmed and for a moment he felt disoriented. Then the memories of what he had seen earlier in the afternoon assaulted him: Robena’s pleading look and Lucius absolute failure to come to her aid. _I betrayed her,_ he told himself harshly. _No, I obeyed father._ Lucius rubbed his eyes. _It’s the same Merlin-damned thing._

Lucius stood and ran his hands through his hair, still damp from his terrible dream. He walked over to the window and looked out. The last light was leeching out from the day, taking any semblance of warmth with it. Lucius shivered. He needed to organize his thoughts and decide what to do next. The first thing he did was light a few lamps and change into a dry shirt. Once these simple tasks were complete he crossed purposefully to the closed door of his room.

Lucius reached out for the doorknob and froze as he realized that he actually had no idea what to do next. Sighing, he drew his hand back and stared at the doorknob. His own reflection stared back at him, distorted into a strange round shape in the brass polished faithfully by the house elves. Lucius knew that he couldn’t face Robena, not after what he had done to her. She might understand; she had been around both him and his father long enough to comprehend what was at stake for Lucius. _But she asked for your help,_ his conscience tormented him. 

Thus, he had to avoid Robena. Lucius didn’t want to run afoul of his father either, who at the very least had been inconvenienced by Lucius’ interruption. Essentially, Lucius was stuck. He sat down on his bed once more, his eyes fixed on the doorknob. He knew he couldn’t stay in his room forever but between what had happened and his nightmare, Lucius knew he wasn’t ready as of yet to step outside of his room. Instead, he took what even he could admit was the coward’s way out and summoned a house elf and commanded it to bring him dinner in his room. 

The house elf obeyed, so Lucius bought himself some time waiting for his dinner and then eating as slowly as he possibly could, taking tiny bites while barely tasting what the elves had prepared and brought to him. When Lucius finally finished, he summoned the house elf once more to carry away his dishes and then lay on his floor with his feet propped up on a wall and tossed and caught his Boomerang Ball. Thanks to his unintended nap, Lucius wasn’t tired, but it was also fairly early in the evening still. 

For the next hour or so, Lucius killed time in every way he knew how: playing with the Boomeriang Ball, reading, playing solitaire Gobstones, and anything else his brain could devise. At eight-thirty, Lucius plucked up his courage and, before he could overthink it, stood, approached the door, grabbed the knob and yanked the door open. But before he could even set a toe out of his room, he almost tripped over another house elf that stood in front of his doorway with its tiny fist poised to knock.

“What is it?” Lucius demanded, masking his surprise with annoyance.

“Master Lucius, Master Abraxas would like to see you in his study at your earliest convenience.” 

Lucius was silent for a moment. “Yes, very well. You’re dismissed." The house elf bowed and retreated. Lucius stood in his doorway and looked down the dark hall. His insides quaked. His father had said the study and not the small drawing room, which meant unequivocally that Lucius was in trouble. The study was his father’s place of dominion and power, not instruction and intimacy—or the closest that Abraxas ever got to them—the way the small drawing room was. In fact, the last time Lucius had been summoned there by his father on a matter regarding Robena, he had beaten Lucius without mercy.

 _One foot in front of the other,_ Lucius thought grimly. It was easier than he thought, taking that first step. Even though Malfoy Manor had never seemed so large and threatening, not since he was five years old and terrified of the dragons, Lucius felt strangely at peace. The axe was finally falling and it didn’t even take until the following day. He couldn’t imagine a night of tossing and turning, wondering what would happen. 

As he passed by the portrait hall, Lucius paused at the doorway. Unable to help himself, he went in. His mother’s portrait was the same as it always was: her form in repose on her side, her head cradled on her arm, her shoulders rising and falling gently with each breath. Even though he knew it was completely irrational, Lucius had to reassure himself that her image remained intact. _Of course it is; it was only a stupid dream,_ he chided himself. He gave her one more lingering look before going back into the hallway and then on to the study.

Lucius stood in front of the study’s door for almost a full minute, his face six inches from the solid oak. He studied every polished whorl, every grain, every stripe of dark and light until they blurred in front of his eyes. Like some sort of machine, he raised his hand and knocked twice. “Enter,” said the cold, commanding voice on the other side. 

Lucius took a deep breath and opened the door. “You wished to see me, father?” He kept his voice neutral, respectful, and concerned. Everything his father might have wished for and certainly expected. 

Abraxas had nothing on his desk except for his wand. No clock, no parchment, no quills, no sealing wax: it was completely clear. Something about that seemed portentous to Lucius. Abraxas looked up at him, his blue eyes divulging nothing. “Close the door and sit down, Lucius.”

Lucius did exactly what he was told in a sequence of gestures: pushing the door shut so the latch clicked, performing an about face, drawing the chair back and finally sitting down. Each movement was a perfectly orchestrated ballet of obedience. Etiquette was the mortar to their wall, after all. Once he was settled in the chair, lower than his father’s own, Lucius folded his hands in his lap and looked up.

Abraxas had his own hands steepled in front of his mouth, his elbows on his desk. He looked into Lucius’ eyes, not speaking for a moment. Lucius looked back without flinching, his entire will bent on keeping any look of defiance, fear, or anger off of his face. Finally, Abraxas spoke. “We need to discuss what you saw earlier.” 

Lucius looked down at his hands. “You were hurting Robena,” he said, his tone quiet and even. “I saw it perfectly.”

“Saw it? Yes. Understood it? Absolutely not.” 

“What’s to understand?” Lucius heard the pain creep into his voice and yet seemed to lack the will to stop it this time. “You hurt the one and only person in this house who is kind to me. And what’s worse is that you’ve been doing it for a shockingly long time.” He looked up now, the heat rising to his face from months of pent-up anger now building to a climax. 

“You know nothing about it, Lucius.”

Lucius shook his head, ignoring the note of warning he had heard clearly in his father’s voice. “Yes, I do, father; I’ve known for some time now. You’ve told me to hone my perceptions, to pay attention to detail and I have. You’ve taught me better than you can imagine. I even confronted Robena about it, when you were careless enough to leave marks on her. And do you want to know the worst part of all of it? Robena actually took up for you, lied for you, and did everything in her power to keep me from finding out about it. You were torturing her and she actually stood up for you.” 

At this, Abraxas actually leaned back and smiled. “Then I’ve done my job.”

Lucius closed his eyes for a moment, squeezing them shut. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve kept her in her place. That was always my intention and it seems I’ve done it. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Lucius opened his eyes. “Why? Why did you do it, father?” he asked hoarsely. 

At this, Abraxas’ smile faded into a grave look. “Lucius, I owe you no explanation, but you’re old enough now that you should understand. I did what I did to Miss March for a very important reason.” He leaned across the desk now, placing his forearms on it, his palms open towards Lucius. “You see, Lucius, we carry in our bloodline a characteristic so precious that it must be vouchsafed at all costs. Our magical purity is a substantial gift and, as such, is also a tremendous responsibility. One of the ways that this responsibility manifests is in ensuring that magical purity is carried forth and breeds true from generation to generation. The other way is in ensuring that those not of pure blood never overstep. Their very existence is a threat to ours.”

Abraxas shook his head sadly. “Believe me, I wish there was another way. It isn’t always easy to be the one to enforce these ancient and irrefutable laws, but without strict adherence to them, magical purity would completely disappear from our world.” Abraxas picked up his wand and turned it over in his hands. “It’s already happening, you know,” He sounded subdued. “As blood traitors create half-bloods and less, as Mudbloods… _mate_ into our society, they dilute and dissipate the raw, elemental forces of magic that allow us to practice at all.” His jaw tightened. "If you don't believe that it's become dangerous, look to our very own Muggle-born Minister for Magic. Never did I think to live to see that day..." 

Abraxas' eyes found Lucius’ once more. “And while you may find my methods abhorrent, they are tried and true for keeping Mudbloods where they belong. As long as Miss March fears me and what I represent, she shall not try to overtake our society.” He half-smiled. “Surely you must have noticed that she has quite a strong will, does our Miss March, and so this is doubly true in her case. In fact, my intimidation must be of sufficient intensity that she does not even dream of overstepping her station, even once she leaves Malfoy Manor. As the next Malfoy in succession to me, this shall become your responsibility when you reach manhood.”

“But father, Robena’s not like that,” Lucius said, now putting his own forearms on the desk and leaning forward, copying Abraxas’ posture, another psychological trick he had taught Lucius. “She’s nothing like other Mudbloods.” Lucius smiled. “She’s clever, kind, and magically talented. So you don’t have to hurt her.” He dropped his voice. “ _Please_ stop hurting her, father.”

Abraxas’ face darkened. “And have her try and jump above her station? Have you been listening to a word I’ve said?”

“She wouldn’t do that, father. Please stop.” Lucius hated the plaintive note that had entered his voice, but he didn’t know what else to do. He had already failed Robena once today; he wasn’t about to do it again.

“Oh no?” Abraxas stood now. “She already tried it with the Selwyns.”

“What do you mean?” 

Abraxas sneered. “You see? You understand nothing.”

Lucius felt his brows knit together. “She was close with the Selwyns; that’s not a secret, father, but what of it? She has a generous nature.” Lucius put his hands back in his lap and looked down at them. “And if all of that counts for nothing with you, please stop for my sake. She has been kind to me, always, since the moment she entered Malfoy Manor. And despite all of the abuse she has suffered here, she has stayed by my side.” He dropped his voice. “By both of our sides, in spite of everything.”

“All of that is immaterial, Lucius.” Abraxas now crossed around to the front of the desk. “She is inferior to both of us and must never forget that.”

Lucius now stood as well, his patience completely depleted. “No, she isn’t, father!” he cried out, facing his father full on. “She is a talented witch and…” Lucius knew this next would get him into an incalculable amount of trouble, even more than he was already in, but he had to say it. “You talk of Mudbloods diminishing elemental magic, but Robena can strengthen the Venus Line and tap into it. I’ve seen her do it. _You_ can’t even do that, father.” Now it was Lucius’ turn to sneer. “She can control elemental magic on _your_ property that you can’t even begin to draw from or strengthen. The Venus Line is weak, you know it is, but Robena can make it stronger. Not you. Knowing that, do you still think she’s inferior to—“

Lucius never got to finish. Abraxas hand came up so fast that Lucius didn’t even see it coming. He did feel it, however, when the back of it hit him full force on the mouth. It smarted, but Lucius knew that it was the softest hit he was likely get, a stinging tap mostly to get him to shut up. “You little liar,” Abraxas hissed, grabbing Lucius by the front of the shirt with both hands. 

“I’m not lying, father. I saw her do it. I swear on the Malfoy na--” Another quick hit followed this, again on the mouth, this one from the other side. Abraxas hit him hard enough this time to cut Lucius’ lip with the edge of the wedding ring that he still wore for Laila. Blood trickled into Lucius’ mouth.

“Don’t you dare use our sacred name to swear an oath on that Mudblood whore! Damn you, you _still_ don’t understand,” Abraxas said through clenched teeth. “But, by Merlin, I’m going to _make_ you understand, even if I have to break every bone in your traitorous body.” With this, he hit Lucius in the face again, before throwing him to the floor. Lucius broke his fall with his hands. Abraxas followed him down, turned him roughly over onto his back and planted a knee in Lucius’ ribcage. He pointed his wand at Lucius now. Lucius struggled, pushing at Abraxas’ knee with both hands, even as he found it difficult to breathe. “ _Imperio._ ”

With that, a feeling of serenity unlike anything he had ever felt descended on Lucius. He stopped struggling and relaxed into the floor. “Call to mind that day, Lucius,” his father said calmly. “Recall the day that Miss March tapped into the Venus Line. Bring it forth from your memory right now.” It didn’t even occur to Lucius to resist. He closed his eyes. _A field of flowers in the green forest. I was kneeling on the ground. I just wanted to make her happy and she_ was _happy, quite possibly the happiest she ever was at Malfoy Manor. She was holding my hand, her fingers warm and reassuring on mine. I felt the power transfer from the Venus Line into her, and then back down, getting stronger, getting warmer…and spring advanced…it was beautiful…and holy…_

“Are you picturing it clearly, Lucius?” 

“Yes, father…” 

“ _Obliviate._ ” 

With that, the scene disintegrated like someone rinsing away a painted picture that hadn’t dried as the colors and forms blurred and swirled together into nothingness. _No!_ Lucius thought in despair as the memory faded forever. As soon as the charm broke Abraxas’ Imperius Curse, the pain and terror returned. His knee once again kept Lucius pinned and struggling for breath. Abraxas stowed his wand and hit Lucius again, snapping his head to one side. “If she’s so clever, why did she hand her wand over to me every time I asked her to?” Another hit came and Lucius’ vision disappeared temporarily into sparks. “If she’s so kind, how was _I_ the one to save you from the siren?” Lucius vision cleared just in time to get hit from the other side. Blood now ran from multiple lacerations and abrasions, as well as from both nostrils. “And if she’s so magically talented, how was I able to curse her so very easily, not once but time and time again?” 

Lucius lost count of how many times his father had hit him. This was completely different than any time before, where Abraxas had punished him with icy intention and deliberation. This was unchecked rage and something far more dangerous than even that. Abraxas had partially gotten it backwards: he had conditioned Robena to fear him because in turn he feared her and all she represented. And now his fear was manifesting in a completely uncontrolled, brutally violent attack. “Father,” Lucius said. It was difficult to get the word out, as if his mouth didn’t want to form any words.

“You don’t get to speak, traitor,” Abraxas growled, taking Lucius jaw in one hand and forcing him to look into Abraxas’ eyes. Lucius whimpered with the pain. He didn’t want to show weakness in such a way, but he also couldn’t help it. Every part of his face felt like it was made of broken glass. Abraxas’ look changed to one of disgust. “You’ve made your choice clear, Lucius,” he said coldly, releasing Lucius’ face so his head hit the floor. 

Stars and sparks danced in front of Lucius’ eyes once more. He fought the urge to black out and blinked once before forcing his eyes open, or as open as they would get now that at least one was trying to swell shut. Painfully, Lucius turned his head so he could see Abraxas, who was now moving to the door, utterly finished with anything having to do with Lucius. His highly-shined shoes appeared sideways to Lucius’ vision. “I _did_ choose you,” Lucius whispered.

The shoes paused and then turned. “What did you say?”

Lucius licked his lips, tasting the coppery tang of blood ( _The purest blood in wizarding history,_ he thought, somewhat maniacally). “In the…the conservatory, father. I chose…you. _You,_ not… not her. Sanctimonia…Vincet…Semper…” With that, everything went dark.


	24. Ch. 60: Confrontation; Ch. 61: Chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after being caught by Lucius, Abraxas summons Robena to his office. She responds, fully prepared to complete her mission. Lucius awakens the morning after his chastisement at Abraxas' hands, seemingly locked into his choice of his family and thus resolves to capture the demiguise once and for all. 
> 
> _Lucius squeezed his eyes shut. The demiguise was right there. This was everything that he had been working towards, the reason he had lost the trust of the Lovegoods, the reason he had cut his own throat for the siren, and the one thing that could gain his father’s approval and respect, the only thing that could possibly justify the irrevocable choice he had made yesterday._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Strap in, folks. We're getting down to it now...

SIXTY: CONFRONTATION

Bright sunlight shone through Robena’s window onto her face, waking her from yet another flying dream. She hadn’t bothered to set an alarm clock the night before and so she wasn’t sure what time it was, but it didn’t really matter. Because of the prior day’s events, Robena had a premonition that she wasn’t going to see Lucius today anyway. Robena went over to the window and peered out just in time to see the sun disappear behind a cloud. On the grounds, green of every shade met her eyes: emerald on mint on kelly green, thanks in no small part to the unrelenting rain. Even now, heavy clouds rolled in and Robena knew that another storm was coming. _Green and gray,_ Robena thought dully, _Slytherin colors._

After she had dressed and broken her fast, Robena went outside to get some fresh air while she still could. Even though the lowering air pressure and the smell of rain assaulted Robena, not a breath of wind stirred. Everything was still and strangely silent as if waiting and Robena shivered despite the clammy warmth of the day. She hadn’t even bothered with an out-of-doors cloak today, wearing only her normal clothes and sensible shoes with the non-skid charms in the soles. 

She now made those sensible shoes measure the crushed gravel paths of the formal garden past statuary, arborvitae, boxwood, and yew, as she pondered and worried. Although it was unfortunate that Lucius had caught her and Abraxas _in flagrante delicto_ , it was also inevitable. For her part, Robena had not guarded the secret as well as she might have with Lucius and she also wasn’t sure just how much Abraxas even _wanted_ to keep it a secret in the first place. That, plus Lucius seemed hell-bent on finding out, despite swearing on the Malfoy name that he wouldn’t.

Robena fumed. She has been so preoccupied with the shock and deep shame resulting from yesterday’s disaster that she had forgotten entirely that Lucius had almost certainly broken his oath to her. Nonetheless, Robena’s anger dissipated as quickly as it came; after all, that curse had left its wand and nothing could take it back. As Robena turned down another path, she frightened a small, grayish-brown rabbit that bounded away before hiding in plain sight next to one of the hedges, its eyes wide and its nose quivering. _How strange that it thinks I can’t see it just because it’s not moving,_ Robena thought. She brushed the thought aside: it would make a tasty meal for one of the Malfoy owls later. _And so the circle turns,_ Robena concluded, turning herself once more so her path took her away from the rabbit.

Her feet crunched on the gravel but aside from that, there was no other noise from the garden: no birds, no breeze, no house elves even. In thinking about what had happened the previous day, Robena supposed that she should have sought out Lucius afterwards. When he had opened the door, he had given her a look of profound shock and helplessness that Robena found almost as agonizing as what Abraxas was doing. Robena wasn’t even sure what she was asking Lucius for when she had said _please_ to him. Had she been asking him to leave, to somehow turn back time so he wouldn’t have to see what he had, or perhaps to forgive himself for not helping when it was so obvious that he couldn’t? In that, Abraxas was right, Druella was right, all of their pureblood philosophy and traditions were right: ancient and unyielding patterns had ensured that Lucius would always make that choice. Robena supposed she had always known it, so it hurt less than she had anticipated. 

Instead, when Lucius left, Robena felt nothing but relief, as his choice took him out of immediate danger. Once the door closed, Abraxas had indeed continued as if nothing had happened. In the garden, Robena stopped in front of a malachite obelisk. Its green and black polished surface looked like some sort of suspended alien ocean. If Robena looked closely, she could see the whorls moving slowly, the patterns ever-shifting. Above the obelisk, Malfoy Manor’s walls rose, gray and forbidding. Robena looked up at them, the countless glass diamonds of the windows reflecting back an increasingly angry sky. Now the wind started, ruffling Robena’s hair. Knowing that she would have to face the proverbial music sometime, Robena started slowly back towards the house. 

Sure enough, she hadn’t gotten far into Malfoy Manor before Bonnsie appeared in front of her. “If you please, Miss Robena,” she said in her high, breathy voice.

“Yes, Bonnsie?”

“Master Abraxas would like to see Miss Robena as soon as possible in his study.”

Robena’s heart sank. This was it. “Thank you, Bonnsie.”

Bonnsie bowed her head and Disapparated with a snap. Robena went to her room first. She felt as if she were walking underwater, but then, nothing had felt real since she had woken up that morning. Robena dug to the bottom of her trunk and brought out the arrow she had purloined previously. She unwrapped the rag that protected the deadly triple-bladed head, cursed by Abraxas Malfoy’s own wand. As Robena turned the arrow in her hand, each blade caught the dull light from the window. _One little, well-placed cut and I rid the world of him,_ Robena thought. 

She wasn’t sure where to hide the arrow, but knew that she had to carry it with her all while avoiding cutting herself on one of its fatal edges. Robena looked around her room before she spotted a roll of parchment, a ley-line map that she had borrowed from Apollo Lovegood on their first visit. Working quickly, Robena unrolled it and then re-rolled the arrow in it. She gathered the few things that Casimir said she would need, placed the wrapped arrow under her arm and then headed off to meet her nemesis.

The door to Abraxas’ study was closed, as usual. Robena lifted her hand and knocked. “Come,” Abraxas said from the other side. Robena opened the door and stepped in. A few lamps glowed against the burgeoning darkness of the day. Abraxas sat at his desk, writing some sort of letter or missive, the crow feather quill scratching his fluid script across the paper in decisive black lines. “Shut the door, Miss March." Robena did as she was told and waited for further instructions.

Abraxas made her wait until he was done with his letter. He blew the ink to dry it, rolled the parchment quickly and sealed it with the Malfoy crest before setting it aside. Only then did he turn his attention back to Robena. “Have a seat,” he commanded. Robena sat opposite Abraxas. She placed her parchment on the empty seat next to her, tilting it just so she could see the merest hint of the fletching protruding from the end. Abraxas studied her for a moment. “I think we both know why you’re here today,” he said. He leaned back and put his fingertips together in front of his mouth.

“You’re going to kill me.” Robena responded, her voice flat.

Abraxas dropped his hands and rewarded her with a deadpan stare. “You really don’t mince words, do you?” 

Robena raised an eyebrow. “Do _you?_ Besides, am I incorrect?”

Abraxas sighed. He set about cleaning the quill he had used on his letter and stashed it in a drawer. When his desk was clear, he folded his hands once more and looked down at them. “Yes, you are.”

“I—I _am?_ ”

“Why would I go through the inconvenience of killing you when I’ve so obviously already won?”

“What do you mean?”

Abraxas looked at her with one eyebrow cocked. “I speak of Lucius, of course. While it is regrettable that he witnessed what he did, Miss March, he drew from the experience all that I meant him to.” 

Robena slumped back in the chair. It was true: Abraxas had broken her in Lucius’ full witness and Lucius had chosen him; all that Druella had predicted at come to pass. _Well, almost all,_ Robena thought, the turkey feather fletching from the Final Arrow always in her peripheral vision. 

“Still,” Abraxas continued. “I do find it reassuring that you believe I will kill you. Perhaps one day I may, should you foolishly try and rise above your station, as I know you secretly wish to.” He smiled suddenly. “The important thing is that Lucius learned the lesson.”

“Is that so? What lesson are you referring to?”

“That my domination over your person has been nothing less than the natural order of things and that it shall be Lucius’ responsibility to do the same with any Mudbloods that come across his path when he grows to manhood.”

The sound of her own Muggle-born blood pounding in Robena’s ears increased with this and she felt her breathing speed up. Even if Abraxas didn’t plan on killing her today, she knew that it shouldn't change her plans in the slightest and his every utterance cemented Robena’s resolve. Abraxas was a monster. “And how did he take it?”

Abraxas’ smirk faded. “Not as well as I had hoped. I had to…correct him in rather harsh terms, as it happens.” He sighed. “Ah well, he’s young; he’ll heal completely enough in a few days even without my magical aid.” 

The pounding in Robena’s ears was now joined by a buzzing noise and the metallic taste of adrenaline in her mouth. _Stay focused,_ she warned herself. “So, if you’re not going to kill me, why did you summon me today?” 

His smile now turning cruel, Abraxas stood and came around the desk. He stopped next to her and held out his hand. 

“You have _got_ to be joking,” Robena said through gritted teeth.

“Oh, I’m perfectly serious; really, Miss March you should know that by now. To be fair, we were most inconveniently interrupted yesterday…”

“No,” Robena said, pitching her voice low, mostly so it wouldn’t shake. “Didn’t you humiliate and shame me enough yesterday?”

Abraxas turned serious. “I’ll overlook the slight inherent in the idea that my taking you is an insult to _you_ and not to me given our respective blood statuses. I’ll simply tell you this: if you relinquish your wand and let me have my way with you, I won’t curse you. I think that’s more than fair.”

Robena looked at Abraxas’ outstretched hand and his insufferable look of entitlement and superiority as her rage smoldered within her like an ember, hot in her abdomen. Still, she couldn’t take any chances with a Cruciatus or an Imperius from him, so she gave a huff of frustration, drew her wand and placed it in Abraxas’ open palm. As usual, he tossed it over his shoulder.

“Let’s get this over with,” Robena muttered. She turned from him and bent over the desk, propping herself up on her elbows. She silently begged Abraxas to take the bait as any other configuration wouldn’t work. Even though Robena could consider her Petrificus Totalis on Abraxas as an unmitigated success, incapacitating him in any way that could pin Robena down wouldn’t work this day, not with so much at stake. Besides, if he saw the attack coming, Robena knew she was done for. “It seems you can be taught after all,” Abraxas said. Robena heard the sound of a belt buckle and a zipper behind her. _Come on,_ Robena thought. 

Abraxas positioned himself behind her, similar to the previous day, with one hand on the back of her neck and the other on her hip. Even though this kept Robena in a convenient position for Abraxas, her hands were still free and that was all she needed. “This really is what Mudbloods are best for.” Abraxas leaned down and whispered in Robena’s ear. “I’m so gratified that you have finally learned how to subject yourself to your betters.” 

_Now!_ Robena thought. Before Abraxas could enter her, Robena shot her hand out, grabbed the arrow out of the parchment, turned it around and rammed it as hard as she could into the junction where Abraxas’ thigh met his pelvis. He roared and let her go before falling back onto the floor. As he released her, Robena held onto the arrow so it came back out again before dropping it to the floor, its work done. She quickly got up and straightened her clothes before looking down to assess the damage. A star-shaped wound showed prominently on the front of Abraxas’ pelvis, and Robena watched, fascinated, as bright red blood shot out in time with Abraxas’ heart, staining the expensive rug in an increasing crimson pool. 

“You Mudblood bitch,” Abraxas snarled, putting both hands over his groin, pressing down hard in an attempt to staunch the pulsating flow leaking in an alarming quantity around his fingers.

“It’s an arrow you cursed yourself,” Robena said. “You’ll not walk away from this one. Even a scratch with one of them, that was what you told me: neither magic, nor dressings, nor chirurgery, nothing shall heal the wound.” Robena looked down at her own hands, which were covered with Abraxas’ blood. _Perfect,_ she thought, _I have everything I need._

Abraxas wasted no time. Keeping one hand pressed firmly on his groin, he reached out with the other and grabbed her wand from the floor where it had landed. With a look of grim determination, he snapped it in half, using the floor as leverage. As it broke, it gave off a small shower of golden sparks. Robena screamed in fury. With her raw emotions at full rein now, she couldn’t help it. _Rowan, 12 inches, pliable, dragon heartstring,_ Mr. Olivander’s ancient voice echoed in her head. She would never cast with it again. In the time it took her to realize this, Abraxas had grabbed his own wand and pointed at her.

“ _Avada Kedavra!_ ” 

Robena ducked just in time for Abraxas’ Killing Curse to miss her and hit the wall behind her, leaving a burn mark. He had his wand in one hand and applied pressure to his wound with the other. Blood continued to seep around his fingers, but he still looked at Robena with the steely resolve of a man who would kill her with his dying breath. 

Robena knew she was wasting time with every second she stayed in the room. The Final Arrow would do its work. Her most important job was done and now she needed to escape and save Daphne. Robena sprinted down the hallway, her footsteps echoing against the marble, her breath rapid and shallow. She ducked into the house elf corridor that would take her down to the kitchen and outside. After she shoved the door open and exited Malfoy Manor proper, Robena headed towards the meadow. She felt dizzy and the hot ball of rage still burning in her core was making her feel slightly nauseated, but nothing would stop her now. She had Abraxas’ final life’s blood: all she needed to do was get to the Fell Circle and put the blood onto Daphne. _Then we’ll both be free,_ Robena thought. 

By then the wind had picked up and fat rain drops were starting to fall. The now knee-high dagger-like grass of the meadow pulled at Robena’s legs as she rushed towards the tree line. A bolt of lightning arced across the sky, followed closely by a deafening boom of thunder. Under the cover of trees, Robena slowed down slightly, her chest burning and her lungs fit to burst. Even though she wasn’t running, she was moving with a purpose, striding down the path and avoiding tree roots. 

After a few minutes, the Fell Circle loomed before her, that familiar ring of tangled driftwood crowned with antlers, unworldly and primeval in its clearing. _Almost there,_ Robena thought. _I’m coming, Daphne._ She ducked through the archway and burst into the circle. What she saw brought her up short. All of the statues were there, save one. Robena stood stock still for a moment. She could hear the plash of rain on leaves overhead and the ominous rumble of thunder, as well as her own heart beating in her ears. “Oh, Sweet Merlin, she’s not here,” Robena said out loud, looking around wildly. Even Daphne’s marble block was gone. “Where are you?” she cried out in frustration.

“Surely you’re not looking for my siren, are you?” The smooth, cold voice that came from the inside of the circle sent ice water rushing into Robena’s veins and she turned slowly. Abraxas Malfoy stood now in the spot where Daphne was supposed to be. In his hands he held a strung longbow, nocked with the Final Arrow. “You know, Miss March,” he said, bringing it up and sighting straight down the shaft at Robena. “You really shouldn’t meddle with things you don’t understand.” With that, his fingers released and the deadly missile flew straight at Robena. 

SIXTY-ONE: CHANCE

The morning following his reprimand, Lucius opened his eyes, or one eye as the other was swollen shut, only to find that he was completely entangled in his bedsheets. His room was already brighter than normal and Lucius wondered just how long he had slept. Of course he had dreamt of the conservatory, but in his dream, he still had Pi. He had switched it on and when his duplicates emerged, they held him down on the conservatory floor and made him watch Robena be tortured all while chanting that he had made the wrong choice. Then, Robena had turned into the siren and said, _My eternal enslavement to the accursed Malfoy family is an amusement._ Lucius tried to deny it, but his duplicates kept him pinned down while they chanted, _wrong choice…wrong choice…wrong choice…_

Lucius blinked a few times to try and clear the dream from his mind and then disentangled himself and sat up, his movements slow and stiff. His mouth tasted terrible and he vaguely wondered how much of his own blood he had inadvertently swallowed during the night. Lucius stood and crossed to the pitcher of water on his side table and poured a glass. Powerfully thirsty, he drank about half of it and when he set it down, he saw a faint spiral of what looked like rust swirl down to the bottom. 

Lucius wandered off into the bathroom and took a look at himself in the mirror. He looked terrible: one eye had indeed swollen shut, surrounded by a mass of blackish-purple tissue. Underneath was an abrasion. His father’s ring had cut the other side of Lucius’ face and although the laceration had closed over, it too was ecchymotic and swollen. Blood had dried all around his mouth, which accounted for the horrendous taste in his mouth and the swirl of crimson in his water glass. Lucius sniffed experimentally. He didn’t think his nose was broken, but it had been collateral damage at any given point the previous night so it was difficult to say. 

Sighing, Lucius took a flannel, moistened it in the sink and did his best to clean his face up yet again. _Healing the damage would have killed him?_ Lucius thought of his father with resentment and profound sadness as he dabbed painfully at his swollen eye. He supposed there was some sort of lesson in all of it, but Lucius couldn’t figure out exactly what Abraxas meant for him to learn from the experience. _That I wagered on the wrong hippogriff, perhaps?_ The thought was bitter. Lucius had put his faith in his father and the only thing it had gained him was a savage thrashing, possibly the worst of Lucius’ life. 

Lucius looked above the mirror, where some Malfoy ancestor had seen fit to carve the family motto, _Sanctimonia Vincet Semper_ into the black marble. _Purity always conquers,_ Lucius thought. He looked back at his reflection. Well, right or wrong, he had made his decision and there was no undoing it. He stood up straight and wiped off the look of tragedy that had descended on his face. Lucius then dressed and had the house elves bring him breakfast in his room, even though it was probably closer to lunch.

After he finished, Lucius decided that he needed to get his mind off of his governess and his father. Thus, he resolved that he was not going to rest that evening until he had captured the demiguise. He had gone to a great deal of trouble to obtain Apollo Lovegood’s ingenious device; today he was going to put it to use. Besides, after his dream, he was eager to get rid of Pi. Lucius took it off of his bureau, and then went into one of the storerooms behind the kitchen, digging around inside of a trunk until he found some minor baubles and a post sack large enough to throw over the demiguise.

So armed, Lucius went back to the large drawing room, just as he had the previous day. To hedge his bet, Lucius left a trail of trinkets, small silver rings and brooches, old costume jewelry that was of no real value to anyone. Lucius knew that any really valuable pieces that his family possessed were locked deep underground in the Malfoy Gringotts vault. No one would care if a piece or two of this rubbish went missing. Once in the drawing room, Lucius hunkered down behind an armchair to bait his trap.

He readied the sack and experimentally switched Pi on. Its tubes warmed and the gears inside whirred to life. After a moment, a Lucius came out of it and started walking around the drawing room. It reminded the real Lucius of his dream, all his copies swarming around him, pushing him down, covering him up, smothering him, all while reminding him of just how wrong he was. Lucius quickly shook the feeling off and held stock still, listening. 

He heard nothing except the doleful ticking of the floor clock. Lucius waited a few minutes and then switched the machine off and back on again. Another copy of himself came out and bolted for the door. Lucius switched the machine off. He listened intently for another few minutes, and thought that he heard the sound of one of his hall trinkets being picked up. Lucius’ breath caught in his throat. He kept his eyes fixed on the doorway, his ears tuned to the slightest sound. 

Without warning, the floor clock chimed out, seeming deafeningly loud in Lucius’ heightened state of awareness and making him just about jump out of his skin. It seemed to take forever to ring out twelve times, rudely refusing to hurry up while Lucius glared at it balefully. After it had rung its final note, the clock fell silent once more. After waiting five whole minutes, Lucius switched the machine on and back off again. He waited. Lucius repeated this pattern three more times, each time waiting longer. 

After his fourth round of this, once again he heard the tiny, musical sound of something picking up another hall trinket. Lucius once again held his breath, listening. Sure enough, something was coming closer to the drawing room. The sounds were becoming more frequent and louder. Now Lucius could hear animal shufflings and small sniffing noises coming from the open doorway. Lucius’ heart beat faster as his quarry drew nearer. This was it.

Once again he watched the door, his every fiber willing the demiguise to come in. Sure enough, two perfectly round brownish-gold eyes appeared inside the demiguise’s curious and wizened face. The creature paused for only a moment at the door before ambling in, following Lucius’ trail of curiosities. As the demiguise moved, its remarkable fur shimmered as if distorting the very fabric of reality around its body. 

Lucius forced himself to breathe very slowly, as if shooting his bow and arrow. He had already taken his sack in one hand, while the other’s fingers were poised on Pi’s switch. Now the demiguise was ten feet from Lucius, now nine…eight…seven. Closer and closer it wandered, not seeming to sense his presence. _Perfect,_ Lucius thought, smiling preemptively, _come closer…closer…_ The demiguise was now a mere four feet from Lucius.

 _Now,_ Lucius thought, his fingers flipping the switch. The first Lucius came out, followed by a second and a third. At the first, the demiguise had frozen, its eyes turning the bright blue of sunlight on an iceberg, but it hadn’t disappeared. As it was intended to do, the possible realities coming out of Pi completely hypnotized the demiguise. It stood almost completely immobile; only its head moved, tracking each of the Lucius copies as they did all the things that were possible to the real Lucius. 

Lucius readied his sack, his mouth dry from excitement. Just as he was about to spring, he heard a scream pierce the air. _Robena,_ he thought, feeling an icy stab of dread in his heart. The demiguise had turned its head towards the sound, but after a second, dismissed it as immaterial compared to what was going on in front of its preternatural vision. Lucius paused, the sack in both hands and the demiguise completely in his power. _Do it,_ he urged himself. _You’ve made your choice._

 _It’s not a choice, Lucius,_ his father’s voice haunted him, echoing in Lucius’ head. _Lucius…please._ He squeezed his eyes shut. The demiguise was right there. This was everything that he had been working towards, the reason he had lost the trust of the Lovegoods, the reason he had cut his own throat for the siren, and the one thing that could gain him his father’s approval and respect, the only thing that could possibly justify the irrevocable choice he had made yesterday. And yet, Lucius found that he couldn’t refuse a second cry for help from Robena any more than he could ignore this second chance to actually do the right thing by her, by Robena, by his… “Mother,” Lucius whispered. 

“Merlin damn it to Hades,” Lucius swore. He switched Pi off, grabbed it and skirted the demiguise on the way out. Still, he turned at the door and saw that the demiguise now explored the postal sack, lifting its burlap edges and probing inside before sticking its head and half its body into the bag's dusty interior. “Are you _in earnest_ right now?” Lucius growled. _All you have to do is sweep the demiguise up in the bag and you’re done,_ he told himself. Lucius shook his head firmly. No. The time for wholly selfish decisions was yesterday. He had to redeem himself. As far as Lucius knew, he might never get another chance and if he passed it up, he would regret it forever. With a titanic surge of willpower, he wrenched his head away from the tantalizing view of the demiguise crawling into the sack and moved as quickly as his battered body would let him down the hall. 

The scream had come from the direction of Abraxas’ study, but Lucius knew better than to bust in; he had learnt that lesson yesterday. Without knowing why, Lucius went outside, unconsciously following the once-powerful line of female energy, the Venus Line, towards the Fell Circle. He couldn’t go quickly, but he could move with a limping but determined gait. A flash of lightning and a rumble of close thunder urged him through the formal garden and out to the meadow. The gathering wind blew the long grass, making it whisper and tremble.

Lucius pressed on, even though his head was now pounding and he felt horrifically light-headed. It reminded him more than a little bit of returning from the forest after the siren had made him almost end his own life. His father had come to his aid that day, but then again, so had Robena. _Focus, Lucius,_ he thought. He ducked under the cover of the treeline just as the rain started to come down. It splashed on his face and he impatiently brushed it off, wincing as his careless fingers touched his bruised flesh. _Why couldn’t the two of them just gotten along?_ he wondered, once again with that same mix of sadness and resentment. 

_She is inferior to both of us and must never forget that, _Abraxas had said. He had then ensured that Lucius would never forget either. The rain now fell steadily and lightning flashed overhead, its thunder hard on its heels. Lucius could see the Fell Circle up ahead. He was breathing hard by now and light-headed from the exertion of the work of walking up the meadow, plus any amount of cerebral trauma endured the previous day. Lucius sat down heavily behind a tree, letting Pi fall from his hand to tumble softly in the green undergrowth as colored flurries descended over his vision. _I just need to rest for a moment,_ he thought, but even thinking had become a fuzzy and insurmountable chore.__

___No, Robena needs my help._ Lucius forced his eyes open. He was so tired and his head was reeling. Maybe he had some sort of diversion in his pocket to keep his mind occupied and thus awake, like a Boomerang Ball. Lucius plunged his hand deep into his pocket and his fingers caught on something fine and long. He pulled it out: it was one of Robena’s long, auburn hairs, the one that he had found in the armory. Lucius held one end between his two fingers, before taking the other end and drawing it tight. _ _

__He could see Robena approaching the Fell Circle now, also breathing hard. To Lucius’ alarm, Robena’s hands were splashed with blood, but Lucius couldn’t be sure whose blood it was. _Probably her own,_ he thought despondently, _spilled at my father’s hands._ Lucius looked around, half expecting to see him in pursuit. Abraxas was a skilled hunter: if anyone drew blood at Malfoy Manor, Abraxas would have something to do with it and would be on the warpath to finish the job. Even if somehow the blood belonged to Abraxas, he would still be stalking Robena, intent on killing her, if not with his wand than with a Final Arrow, hunting her down like the animal he believed she was._ _

__In that moment, the full realization hit Lucius that he could not prevent Abraxas from being himself. Yesterday had proven it unequivocally. Lucius was not powerful enough to stop Abraxas, not without completely losing himself. He was a part of Abraxas and Abraxas was a part of him, whether Lucius willed it or not. The power, purity, and domination of the Malfoy dynasty ran in his veins, just as it ran within Abraxas, and his father, and his father before that. _It’s in my nature._ Like the basilisk, even if it meant Lucius’ own destruction, as the sole heir to that powerful bloodline, Lucius must choose his family and his legacy. The force of the epiphany filled Lucius with a sense of his own destiny, that he had been cast into this centuries-old mold, forged in a crucible of cruelty and austerity with the sole purpose of making him strong enough to wield that power._ _

__Sure enough, Lucius heard his father’s voice coming from within the Fell Circle. “…meddle with things you don’t understand.” Lucius then heard the unmistakable twang of a bowstring. Lucius felt like he’d been punched in the stomach. He was too late. Or was he? _Nature or not, I have to try,_ he thought grimly. He looked at the hair stretched between his fingers, perhaps the only part of Robena he could save, and then back at Pi, lying on its side. Lucius closed his eyes, remembering everything Apollo had told him before opening them again. _I can’t stop Father,_ Lucius thought, holding the hair up once more, _but I can sure as Hades slow him down._ Lucius grinned ferally. He knew exactly what to do._ _


	25. Ch. 62: Freedom; Ch. 63: The Nexus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robena and Abraxas take their feud to its conclusion.
> 
>  _“Ah, there you are,” Abraxas said softly and once again Robena heard the more methodical tread of his feet stalking. She squeezed her eyes shut._ Please let it be fast… _she prayed,_ if I can’t get to the pool and he’s truly won, please let the end be fast.

SIXTY-TWO: FREEDOM

Before Robena could even think about dodging, the arrow flew at her; all she could do was squeeze her eyes reflexively and pray that Abraxas got her in one shot. Instead of feeling the fatal impact in her chest or her throat, Robena felt the arrow graze her arm. It was so sharp it barely even stung. Surprised, Robena’s eyes opened and immediately went to spot, which bloomed in a crimson flower, vivid on her starched white Oxford shirt. “You missed,” she said.

Abraxas chuckled as he let the bow relax down. “I can assure you I did not, Miss March. If I can hit a running roe deer at 100 paces, I can hit a conniving Mudblood upstart standing not twenty paces in front of me.” He shook his head. “No, as with every shot that leaves my bow and every curse that leaves my wand, it hit exactly where I intended.” Any trace of amusement faded from his face. “I truly had no intention of killing you today, you know. But regrettably, your little performance back there in the study has hardened my tender heart.”

Robena felt the warmth and dampness now on her left arm. She dared not look, lest she lose what shreds of calmness she still possessed under the burgeoning panic that now fluttered in her chest. Instead, Robena refocused. “How are you not dead?” she asked. “Like you, I can strike true. I hit something major and critical with that Final Arrow, I'm certain of it.”

Once again, Abraxas smiled. “You are both right and wrong, Miss March. You did strike something critical and what’s worse, you removed the arrow. If they don’t pass through the flesh completely, these arrows are designed with the express purpose of staying in the quarry, regardless of how it might bolt or thrash about. Therefore, if you remove one from a live target, it causes a great deal of damage and pain.”

“And yet here you stand.” The warmth crept down to her elbow now. _Keep him talking,_ Robena told herself while she started to back slowly out of the circle. 

“Well spotted.” Abraxas lifted an eyebrow. “After you left, I didn’t waste an instant. I managed to get myself over to my desk, and found not one, not two, but three wand Augmenters. Not wishing to take any chances, I clipped on all three and cast the spells needed to stop the hemorrhage and repair the damage.”

Robena kept moving slowly, dragging one foot backwards and then another. “But you said no spells would heal the damage from a Final Arrow.”

“I told you the truth when I said that, Miss March.” Abraxas’ eyes lit upon the darkening spot on Robena’s left arm. “If you don’t believe me, you’re welcome to try and heal that parchment cut I just gave you.” His smile turned malicious. “Oh, that’s right; you don’t have a wand anymore.” He shrugged dismissively. “Well, it wouldn’t matter if you did. The point is, what you impaled me on was _not_ in fact a Final Arrow. It was an ordinary hunting arrow, sharp and deadly to be sure, but not cursed.”

Robena felt her heart start to speed up once more. “But I cast Specialis Revelio on it. I _saw_ you curse it.” She dropped her voice. “I saw it…” Robena felt the first pangs of despair descend upon her. 

Abraxas continued. “And your spell did not lie: I did indeed curse it. However, because you are not well-versed in Dark Arts, in your ignorance, you failed to learn that the spell breaks at sundown of the day it is cast. I’m just thankful that you’ve held Lucius to higher academic standards than those to which you hold yourself.” Another flash of lightning and boom of thunder broke the atmosphere, making Robena jump. “So now, a point to ponder, Miss March.” Without breaking eye contact with her, Abraxas reached over his shoulder and drew another arrow out of the quiver he had strapped to his back. “The arrow you used on me was no longer cursed. How much are you willing to wager that this one is? And that the rest of my arrows are also cursed? And, if you will allow me a follow-up: care to guess how many cursed arrows I can get into you before you die?” 

Robena didn’t wait around to let Abraxas nock the cursed arrow and let it fly at her. She turned and ran out of the Fell Circle. Her adrenaline flowing now, Robena didn’t even notice the stinging pain coming from her left arm. All that mattered was putting as much distance as possible between herself and Abraxas. If she was extraordinarily lucky, she could get to the pool before Abraxas could kill her. That was the most important thing now. Even if he shot her with every cursed arrow in his quiver, she had to get to that pool.

Her feet flew over the ground, the trees and shrubs blurring around her. Robena knew that her odds were terrible. While she had gotten to know this part of the Malfoy parkland better and better with each trip with Lucius into the forest and the grounds, she would never know it as well as Abraxas. Furthermore, she had absolutely no way to defend herself aside from running as far and as fast as she could. Abraxas wielded both a wand and a lethal hunting weapon, paired with unwavering determination, uncompromising ruthlessness, and unparalleled experience. “Run, if you think it will help, Miss March,” she heard him call behind her, “It certainly makes it more of a sport for me.”

 _Please, Merlin,_ Robena prayed fervently as she crashed through the underbrush. _I just need a tiny advantage. Please don’t let this unspeakable bastard win._ It was the prayer of the desperate and Robena knew that it was futile, but she had nothing else. An arrow buried its point into an oak tree next to her head and Robena dodged to the side, feeling a sense of _déjà vu_ as she did so. She could hear Abraxas’ steps coming behind her, unhurried and calm as if he already knew that he had won. 

She did what she had done in her dream and ducked into the underbrush to hide. “There’s little point in playing this game with me, Miss March,” Abraxas said, not thirty meters from where Robena hid. _The contemptible cheater probably Apparated,_ Robena thought bleakly. “I know these parklands like I know my own wand. There is nowhere you can hide that I can’t find you.” Now Robena shivered with foreboding. It was exactly like her dream and in that moment, Robena convinced herself that Daphne had indeed sent her that dream as a warning. _I am your doom and your salvation,_ she had prophesied at one point, so long ago.

Robena dismissed the thought. It was a waste of brain power at the moment: Robena needed to come up with something, hiding better, running faster, _something_. She heard twigs cracking above the steady fall of the rain and the intermittent boom of thunder, the sound of Abraxas closing in. Robena shut her eyes and held very still, trying Lucius’ trick of putting her thoughts elsewhere, creating a blank psychic space, becoming one with the tree. In a corner of her mind, she could see the Venus Line glowing below where she hid. 

Just then, she heard a louder cracking of sticks and whipping of branches being forced out of the way by someone running. “Ah, there you are,” Abraxas said softly and once again Robena heard the more methodical tread of his feet stalking. She squeezed her eyes shut. _Please let it be fast…_ she prayed, _if I can’t get to the pool and he’s truly won, please let the end be fast._ Her heart felt like it was going to beat right out of her chest. “You know, if you run, you’ll only die short of breath,” Abraxas called and to Robena’s shock, she heard him move off, away from her hiding spot.

 _What?_ Robena thought in sudden confusion. She peered through the underbrush and what she saw nearly took her breath away. A different Robena was running through the woods with Abraxas following her. Before she could get far, another Robena came out of nowhere and ran in another direction. And then a third. _Lucius,_ Robena thought as her eyes smarted with gratitude and relief. The only possible explanation for the phenomenon was that he had hidden himself somewhere nearby, secretly activating Apollo Lovegood’s ridiculous Pi device on her behalf. 

Robena looked around in all directions, but could see nothing except more and more Robenas coming out of the trees. Some fled, some tried to talk to Abraxas, and some picked wildflowers. “What in the name of Hades?” Abraxas growled, turning this way and that with his bow still drawn, unable to determine which one was the real Robena.

 _Go!_ Robena thought. She jumped from her hiding spot and without even trying to hide from Abraxas, took off after one of her duplicates in the direction of the brook and the pool. Because she was hiding in plain sight, Abraxas didn’t even register her. _Thank you, Lucius,_ Robena thought, _and goodbye, wherever you are._ Her heart aching, Robena ran as fast as she could. Her entire left sleeve was now damp with blood, but she kept her feet moving ever towards the pool.

 _But what about when I show up through Casimir’s portal without his sister?_ Robena thought in a panic. Once again, she dismissed the errant worry; she was completely out of time and would simply have to figure out something after she was out of harm’s way. She would rather throw herself on Casimir’s mercy than Abraxas’ any day. Gradually, Robena heard the sound of the brook over the rain. As she ran, Robena noticed that the other copies of herself had thinned out and eventually, she was the last one left, at least in that part of the forest. It was bound to happen in the end, but all Robena had needed was a chance and Lucius had given that to her. 

As Robena crested the hill, she could see the brook, no longer a calm burble of clear water over rocks, but a rushing, angry torrent of white water, swollen from days of rain. Robena followed the river downstream, unconsciously following the Venus line. The ground fell sharply away and Robena had to climb carefully. The flow picked up speed here, ending in a waterfall that was picturesque and pleasant in fine weather but now was a frothy, violent flume, disgorging all of its water into a flooded miniature lake. Between the outflow from the waterfall and the raindrops coming from the sky, the surface of the pool appeared to boil. 

Robena didn’t even take the time to check if Abraxas had followed her; she had no intention of wasting the miraculous opportunity that Lucius had given her. She reached into her pocket and drew forth the item that Casimir had given her: an ancient, rune-inscribed clay bottle with a stopper. Robena removed the stopper and peered in at the thick, black ink within. She then tilted her hand over the roiling pool, letting the bottle’s contents drip into the water.

Immediately, the water calmed from rolling and foaming to drifting in a clockwise direction. A deep blue light shone from within the center of the pool as the water started to spiral slowly around it. The light started to illuminate the damp undersides of the leaves on the trees that overhung the pool with a slick, blue glow. A strange sound grew to overtake the sounds from the storm, a low-pitched thrumming, like a giant drum or a heartbeat. Robena watched, hypnotized, as the light and the sound started to increase in intensity. 

Robena moved closer to the edge of the pool, her sensible shoes inching over the bank. One jump into the swirling waters and she would be free. As she tensed to jump, she felt as if someone had given her a hearty clap on the back and felt an intense burning sensation in her left side. She looked down to see a triple-bladed arrowhead protruding from her ribcage just below her left breast. Small air bubbles had formed in the blood coating the shaft. 

Before Robena could react to the first, she felt another slap and another burn as a second arrowhead protruded, this time from the right side. She looked up and saw Abraxas, lowering his bow and closing the distance between them. Robena coughed and doubled over with the pain. “I must compliment you on that spell, Miss March,” Abraxas said, actually sounding impressed for once. “Casting a Gemini spell without a wand is…most accomplished. Too bad it availed you naught.” 

Robena closed her eyes briefly in reprieve, going to her knees. She might be dying, but she could die content in the knowledge that Abraxas would never find out that Lucius had helped her. At least she had that comfort. Robena opened her eyes to see Abraxas reaching into his quiver. Even with her vision narrowing to a tunnel, Robena could see the pool next to her a dizzying vortex of intense blue light. It was now or never. Even though every part of her wanted to lie down, to quit, to die, Robena fought it. _No,_ she thought, _I refuse to die as Abraxas Malfoy’s slave._ The idea gave Robena a pang about Daphne, but now she truly was out of time, she only had a few heartbeats left and she was going to use them to get to the vortex whatever it took.

For the last time, Abraxas nocked, drew, sighted, and released, his eyes bright with vindictive triumph. His third and final arrow went through Robena’s throat, the force of it enough to push Robena to the side and let her slip headlong into the swirling water. With an overwhelming feeling of peace, Robena felt herself succumb to the power of Casimir’s portal and finally let herself rest in the knowledge not only that she had successfully escaped Abraxas Malfoy, but that Lucius was safe. With that, Robena gave herself over to the swirling darkness and embraced the oblivion therein. She was finally free.

SIXTY-THREE: THE NEXUS 

_I’m flying high above crystalline blue waters. I hear nothing but the cry of sea birds and the wind rushing past my ears. I smell clean air and salt spray. I feel freedom. I beat my wings once…twice, seeking heaven…wake up, Robena…wake up._ “Wake up, Robena.” Someone was gently slapping her face. 

“Leeme alone…” Robena’s tongue felt thick in her mouth and everything felt sluggish. _Leave me alone; I’m dead, for Merlin’s sake._ “Dead…let me…rest.”

“You’re not dead, you silly witch. Not yet, anyway. Or, well, not exact—Just…open your damn eyes. Don’t be difficult.” 

Thoroughly annoyed now, Robena did as she was commanded. She was lying on a beach and Casimir knelt above her, three of the four of his tentacles encircling her as gently as a lover as she leaned on his chest. Two wound around her ribcage and one wound around her neck, covering all of the spots that Abraxas’ Final Arrows had impaled. Casimir's tentacles pulsed with a gentle light, in time with his heart. Now suddenly wide awake, Robena tried to sit up. “Be still!” Casimir warned her, his grip tightening. “My tentacles _are_ the only things keeping you from dying at this moment.” 

As best as she could, Robena looked around her. The beach had beautiful, fine white sand, but where there would normally be surf, an ethereal blue mist rolled off into a deep, velvety black sky. The beach looked like it was sunlit; even some hibiscus flowers and palm trees lined it, but Robena could see no discernible light source. “Where…where are we?”

“We are on the Forgotten Coast. This is a middle place between life and death.” He smiled ruefully. “I was going to take you to another beach, St. Tropez perhaps, but…the crowds this time of year are ridiculous, you know…” He drifted off, turning serious. “What went wrong? And where’s Daphne?” Thankfully, he didn’t sound accusatory, just concerned.

Robena groaned and relaxed her head back. “Abraxas happened. My plan was to kill him with one of his own cursed arrows…you know: poetic irony and all.”

“Of course.”

“But, as it happens, his curse breaks the day it’s made and I didn’t know that, so when I stabbed him, although I did I hit something vital, it was not vital enough to kill him without magical enhancement.” Robena took a deep breath, grateful for the ability to do that. “Then, when I got to the Fell Circle, Daphne was just…gone.” Robena turned her face to Casimir’s above her and she felt tears come to her eyes. “She was _gone,_ Casimir. I am most terribly sorry. But by then, I had no time to look for her, figure out where she went, or rescue her. Abraxas was coming after me with his wand—he broke mine, by the way--and his _actually_ cursed arrows.” Tears now slipped down Robena’s face. “I tried. I really did. But even if she had been in the Fell Circle, none of it would have worked as the blood I had on my hands wasn’t ever going to be Abraxas’ last.” Robena sighed shakily. “I had one chance and I failed.”

Casimir looked thoughtful. “I suppose it was a tall order for a mere mortal to fulfill, even a witch. I didn’t want to say anything because you were the best shot Daphne’s had in a few centuries, but truthfully, the odds were always going to be against you. Still, the fact that you even attempted it shows considerable courage.” His small smile returned. “Besides, as long as Daphne’s statue remains intact, we have hope.” 

This last reminded Robena of something, that inconvenient truth that Casimir still needed to hear. “If it’s any consolation, she didn’t want to come anyway,” Robena said in a small voice.

“What do you mean?” Casimir’s voice cooled and his tentacles moved ominously on Robena’s body.

“What she told me was that she didn’t want anyone to free her of the Malfoys unless the line had ended completely. Theseus Malfoy cut off her wings long ago and she didn’t want to face eternity without the ability to fly. She said that she would agree to go with me as a favor to you and if you would agree to end the Malfoy line yourself. If not, she wanted to die.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me any of this?” Casimir growled. 

“First of all, I forgot,” Robena said defensively, “I was fairly flustered that day at Isadora’s and second of all, would it have mattered? Would you have had me change the plan in the slightest with this new information?” 

Casimir sighed deeply. “I suppose not. My goal was always just to free her and then figure the rest out later. But I’m afraid it’s not as simple as what you want, what I want, and what Daphne wants. There are much larger forces at work.” 

“Let me guess: something about balance?” 

“Yes. Balance must be restored.” In one fluid motion, Casimir stood her up and turned her around. When Robena saw what lay beyond the beach, she gasped. Running out of Robena’s midsection was the golden filament of her dreams, as fine as a hair, spooling from her in a perfectly straight line off the cliff. Casimir waved his free tentacle to clear some of the mist so Robena could see where the filament was going. It traveled into the void but then joined other filaments, joining some here, running parallel with others. She found that she could follow it with her eyes through various loops and turns, intersections and knots. The more she looked, the more lines she saw, stretching in an immense glowing pattern infinitely out into the void, like neuron bundles in a person’s mind. 

“Are these…people?” Robena asked, her voice soft with awe.

“Some of them, yes, but they represent every living being that has ever existed or will ever exist.”

Robena felt dizzy. It was way too much to get her head around. “So, what does all this have to do with Daphne?” 

Casimir spun her in the other direction. There seven lines glowed. All were bright and strong with glowing runes floating in them, some even two different colors, but one line glowed dimmer, almost as if it was stunted for some reason. “There are the sirens,” Casimir explained. His body was pressed against Robena’s, warm and comforting. “There are always seven. Since Pierre Malfoy kidnapped Daphne, the balance has been off, so the rest are compromised in their power. If a siren dies, another is born or created to take her place, but Daphne is not dead, not exactly. She is in a sort of intractable limbo. Yes, Pierre Malfoy cut her throat, but she’s also immortal and she was killed in a ritual where her death was mostly symbolic.”

“Cutting her throat was a _symbolic_ death? It sounds pretty physical to me.” 

“Oh, you clever and literal Ravenclaw, you…” Casimir chided her. “You’re one of the few mortals privileged enough to stand in such close proximity to existence’s nexus and you’re going to argue with me, an immortal being, about the different types of death, particularly for other immortals?” 

Robena clamped her mouth shut. He had a point; she had never been so far out of her depth in terms of knowledge. 

“That’s as I thought,” Casimir said dryly. “Anyway, as long as Daphne remains in captivity to the Malfoys, neither alive nor dead, she can’t fulfill that seventh place, nor can another inhabit it.”

“So she’s stuck.” 

“In a manner of speaking, yes.”

”But her true death could just as easily restore balance,” Robena pointed out.

Casimir paused. “That’s a last resort and I’d rather have her back." 

Robena frowned. “But that’s so…human.”

Casimir looked affronted. “Well, in my defense, I have been around humanity quite a bit.” When Casimir spoke next, Robena could hear the smile in his voice. “Intimately, I might add. Why, just the other day, when myself and the lovely Druella Black were together, I surprised her by giving her a _huge_ \--“

“All right,” Robena cut him off, smiling in spite of herself. “Say it with me this time, Casimir: ‘I don’t need to know.’” 

“A Ravenclaw who _doesn’t_ need to know?”

“Well, there’s knowledge, and then there’s tawdry gossip.”

“Semantics, Robena. It’s still knowledge.”

Robena felt heat rising to her cheeks. “I think we’re getting off the subject.”

“Right,” Casimir said, turning serious.

“And not to be selfish, but what’s going to happen to me in all of this?”

“Oh, you _are_ going to die, as soon as I remove my tentacles from—“ Casimir cut off impatiently. “I’ve already told you this. You know, you’re not a very good listener, Robena March.” 

“Wait, I don’t want to die.” Robena felt her heart speed up suddenly and tensed herself against Casimir’s body and wrapped tentacles.

“Well, I’m sorry,” Casimir said huffily, “As a mortal, even as a witch, you can hardly expect to take two cursed arrows to the lungs and one to the throat and hope to walk away from it. Like it or not, you’re dead. Abraxas won. You lost. Best come to terms with it.” Awkwardly, he turned her again so she could see her filament. “If you don’t believe me, look at your line.” 

Sure enough, as Robena followed it, it looped around several times with another filament, a bright red one, which she surmised represented Abraxas, and then drifted off into nothingness. She felt her entire body slump in defeat. “Then why bother delaying the inevitable with all of this?” she asked, gesturing as best she could in Casimir’s control to the shining nexus all around them.

Casimir hoisted her up. “I needed to know what happened because it lets me know what I need to do next.”

“Abraxas won. You lost. Best comes to term with it."

“You know, you’re pretty cheeky for a dead girl.”

“What could I possibly have to lose at this point?”

“So, I should let go, is what you’re saying?” Casimir softened his tone somewhat as he let his tentacles relax.

Robena’s hands flew up and she grabbed the tentacles encircling her ribs, holding them tight. “No!” she cried out. “Please don’t.” 

“Death isn’t so bad, Robena March,” Casimir said gently. “It’s inevitable in any case and at least Abraxas made it reasonably quick.”

“But I didn’t want my end to be like _this_ ,” Robena said through clenched teeth as tears, now of frustration, came to her eyes. “Not as the victim of that vicious, megalomaniacal bigot. It’s so…unfair.” 

“Yes, well, life often is,” Casimir sighed, relaxing his tentacles more. As he did, the pain started to return, the sense of panic and shortness of breath that had consumed Robena when the second arrow had hit home.

“Listen to me, Casimir: Abraxas got everything: Lucius, Daphne, the rest of the Fell Circle, Georgina, me,” Robena cried in desperation, even as her breath started to fail her. “Where’s the cosmic sense in that? Where’s the justice? Where’s the _balance?_ ” 

At this, Robena felt Casimir freeze. 

“Knowing that, are you…sure there’s…nothing…you…can do?” Robena found the words hard to get out between her shortened breaths. 

Casimir made a sound somewhere between a growl and a groan. He let her go completely, and Robena fell onto the soft sand, on her hands and knees. She was fading fast, but managed to look up at him. Casimir stood above her and drew himself up to his full height, grand and godlike with the nexus’ infinite network of lives sparkling and shining behind him. Now in silhouette, as he had done in his aqua-gallery in Knockturn Alley ( _long ago, so long ago_ Robena thought), Casimir raised his tentacles, this time all four. He slowly curled them at the same time, tighter and tighter as once again, Robena felt a change in the air pressure. 

This time, when the glow started within the center of the tight spirals of tentacle, it sparked off in small bolts of blue and white, similar to the fulminant eels. Magical pressure built, until Robena could almost taste it on the back of her throat. Casimir’s tentacles looked white-hot now. The magic pressed on her already taxed lungs, but Robena focused on breathing slowly and calmly, all while watching Casimir’s feat of magical acrobatics with a spell so wholly alien from anything in Merlin’s repository. When it felt as if the very air would fracture at the seams, Casimir released his tentacles. 

There was a blinding flash of white light and the pressure dissipated suddenly. Robena was still on the beach, the nexus was still overhead, but the pain in her ribs and throat was gone. Even though she felt relief from the agony and panic of her mortal wounds, she couldn’t move, not even to breathe or blink. In fact, her entire being existed in absolute stillness and suspension. Casimir had concentrated his time-stopping spell on just her, and was using it to hold her death hostage. _Pending what?_ Robena wondered. She would have given anything to ask, but of course, it was impossible. 

Even though she couldn’t move her eyes, Casimir remained right in front of her, so she could still see him. He was doubled over with his hands on his knees, catching his breath and for once, his tentacles had slackened completely, their glow gone. Robena wondered if he was going to be all right, not that she could do a thing to help him if he wasn’t. After a moment, Casimir stood. His tentacles started to move again tentatively and when he had recovered, he crouched next to Robena.

Still quivering from the power of the spell, one of his superior tentacles wrapped around Robena’s shoulders as he leaned close to her. “You may still die,” he said, “but you’re right: we haven’t exhausted all of your options.” He stood. “Not yet. Now, wait here. I have to check something. I’ll be right back.” Casimir went over to the edge of the beach, where the watery mist gathered once more. He looked as if he was going to dive in, but then seemed to change his mind and jogged back over to Robena, where he crouched next to her once more. “You probably want me to put you to sleep,” he muttered. “Otherwise you may spend centuries with little to do but stare into the nexus.” He grunted. “And _that_ way lies madness, believe you me.” 

He gently tilted Robena over on her side, so she lay in repose on the sand. He put all four tentacles on her and said a word of power. Robena felt a narcotic tranquility as Casimir’s spell took effect. _Wait…_ she wanted to say. _Centuries? You said you’d be right back! You’re going to leave me here for centuries?_ More than anything she wanted to know what was going to happen. But by this point, she could no more control what was occurring than she could control the outcome with Abraxas. Instead, Robena once again succumbed to oblivion, letting the nexus and all of her worries fade into blackness once more.


	26. Ch. 64: Silencing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Cygnus' help, Druella hatches a plan to sabotage the Coterie of Oberon's initiation of the pureblooded but incompetent young wizard Marcus Carrow. Druella's plan is to destroy Abraxas' marble siren, end the creature's enslavement, protect Lucius, and gain her own revenge for being barred from the Coterie, if she can execute the plan without being caught, that is. 
> 
> _Even hidden, Druella could see that the look on Marcus’ face was that of a boy clearly out of his element. It almost made Druella feel bad for what was about to happen to him, but she realized that someone who had earned zero NEWTs had no business performing any communal ritual magic, even the masturbatory nonsense that the Coterie did._

SIXTY-FOUR: SILENCING

“You can’t go with me this time,” Cygnus said firmly, looking at Druella in the mirror as he fastened his shirt cuffs. He was dressing for his evening with the Coterie, this time for Marcus Carrow’s Oath of Secrecy and Silencing of the Siren. 

“Like Hades I can’t,” Druella retorted. “It _has_ to be me, Cygnus.”

Cygnus paused, his eyes still on hers in the mirror as she stood behind him. “Why?”

Druella sighed and sat on Cygnus’ bed. “It just… _does_.” Cygnus gave her a reproachful look before continuing to dress, adding a waistcoat, buttoning it and then turning to look at himself in profile. Druella folded her arms across her chest. “Well, how were you planning to do it?” 

Cygnus ran his hands through his hair, smoothing it down even as his brow furrowed. “Ah…”

Druella glared at him. “You don’t actually know, do you? Need I remind you of just how short we are on time?”

“I know, I _know_ …just give me a moment, Ella.” Cygnus put his thumb tip in his mouth and nibbled at it gently. 

“Oh, this is most reassuring,” Druella muttered, “your reticence just _fills_ me with confidence at leaving this scheme to you and exiting myself.” 

“Well, we’re talking about destroying a powerful magic item imbued with the spirit of an immortal being without being caught,” Cygnus snapped. “We can’t exactly Expulsor or Reductor curse it, nor is it just going to fall apart on its own.”

Druella froze. “Say that again."

Cygnus turned and faced her. “I said, we can’t cast Expulso or Reducto on it and it’s not going to fall apart on its own.”

A slow smile spread onto Druella’s face. “I know how we’re going to do it.” 

“ ‘We?’”

“For the last time, yes, _yes,_ Cygnus.” Druella dropped her arms and opened her hands to her husband in both frustration and supplication. “If nothing else, _you_ need to appear above reproach.” She stood and took hold of both of Cygnus’ forearms. “We need to destroy the siren, but we can’t afford to lose Abraxas’ trust, which even you have to admit is tenuous at best right now.” 

“I suppose you’re right, but we can’t possibly Polyjuice you again. It’s far too risky.” 

“Who said anything about Polyjuice? Certainly not I.” Druella dropped his arms and paced the ornate rug of Cygnus’ bedroom. “Do you have any wand Augmenters?” She stopped briefly in front of him. 

Cygnus’ eyes darted left and right. “Ella, please, Augmenters are quite illegal.” 

Druella lowered her brows at him. “That’s not even remotely an answer to my question.”

“Well…”

“Do I need to get out the Veritaserum?”

Cygnus smiled crookedly. “’T’wouldn’t work. Go ahead and ask me why…”

Druella sighed in exasperation. “No thank you.” She held out one hand, palm up. “Cough them up.”

“I beg your pardon, ‘them?’”

“Yes. I need every single one you have. About ten should do the trick.”

 _“Ten?!”_

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake, this is going to take all night if you repeat every seventh word I say. Now, do you want to help or not?” 

Cursing, Cygnus turned on his heel and marched out the door. Druella wasn’t worried; she knew how to get what she wanted out of Cygnus. While he searched for the Augmenters, Druella went up to the attic. She didn’t dare trust any of the house elves for this part. She lit her wand with a Lumos and walked to the back corner where a moldering brass-bound trunk sat on the floorboards. Grimly, Druella put her lit wand between her teeth, undid the bolt and with a heave, threw the lid open. Several pixies flew out, shrieking with indignation at being disturbed. 

Druella took her wand back in one hand and with the other dug through the antique lace and velvet of out-of-mode witch and wizard dress robes until she found what she was looking for. With a flourish, Druella drew out her maternal grandmother’s demiguise-fur cape. It shimmered and made the light from Druella’s wand bend around it. When Druella shook the cape out, she almost gagged: magical though it might have been, the garment smelled like a wet dog and there was no time to air it out. Still, it was mostly intact, with only a few patches of white where the enchantment was just starting to fade. Between the cape and a Disillusionment charm, her invisibility would hold for the duration that Druella needed it to. 

By the time Cygnus had found all of his illicit Augmenters (which numbered nine in total and Druella suspected that Cygnus was holding out, but she wasn’t going to quibble at this point), Druella had gathered all of the other artifacts that she needed. She even had cast a freshness spell on the demiguise cape, but it helped only marginally. Cygnus wrinkled his nose, but wisely kept silent after one quelling look from Druella. 

Thus ready, Druella threw on the malodorous cloak and she and Cygnus Disapparated to Malfoy Manor. The sun had just set and the house’s walls and towers showed as a dark silhouette against a blood-red sky studded with golden and purple clouds, their undersides splashed with crimson. Before they could go through the gate, Druella cast the Disillusionment charm. They made it into Malfoy Manor without incident. A house elf dutifully led them to the top of the stairs above the dungeon before informing them that Master Abraxas would be along momentarily.

As soon as the house elf had gone, Cygnus opened the door for Druella. “Good luck, dear,” he murmured to her approximate position. Druella didn’t bother answering. She needed to maintain her concentration to keep the Disillusionment charm in place. Moreover, she needed to stay absolutely focused on what she was to do next. She crept quickly down the stairs like a wraith, wondering if any ghosts haunted Malfoy Manor, aside from the invisible one in the late Laila Malfoy. _Stay on task,_ she warned herself.

Below her, the end of the stairs opened out into the regalia cubbies. Druella didn’t bother with them this time, but continued purposefully to the ritual chamber that lay just beyond. Sconces lit the rough stone walls at even intervals, which conveyed Druella an advantage because she couldn’t afford the psychic energy for even a Lumos. Above all, she needed her Disillusionment Charm to hold so she would cast any other spells only in a dire emergency. Aside from the mission at hand, nothing was more important than avoiding detection for her and blame for Cygnus.

An altar lay at the far side of the room, draped with its normal embroidered cloth. The surface held a faultlessly forged knife with a black handle, a bottle of Veritaserum and two black tapers in silver candlesticks. In the center of the floor, another altar stood perpendicular to the first, but with fetters on each of its four corners. Its white, rune-inscribed marble stood in stark relief to the gray flagstones and black decor, but Druella could also see dark stains on its surface. She turned away in distaste. No small amount of abuse had occurred on this table; the evidence as well as the malevolent magical aura rolling off of it gave Druella little doubt of this. _Well, I’m here to put a stop to all of it,_ she resolved silently. 

The siren still stood off to one side, where Druella had seen her before, her smooth marble arms relaxed down by her sides, a dark smear on one of them the only thing marring her otherwise-pristine surface. A steel gag covered the bottom part of the statue’s cold and proud face. Druella shivered as she envisioned the siren compelling Lucius to cut his own throat. If anything, the thought quickened Druella and she turned back to the task at hand. She unslung the bag she had carried in over her shoulder and emptied it onto the flagstones. 

Back in Blackwood Hall, to Cygnus’ complete horror, Druella had broken open every single Augmenter and, using a control syringe, had extracted the precious magical enhancement potion that powered each, before discarding the empty cartridges unceremoniously over one shoulder. She then imbued the concentrated solution with a Reducto curse and then with an Expulso curse as back up. With each spell she cast, the solution glowed, first green and then blue. Lastly, Druella had carefully injected the precious serum into two empty perfume atomizers. She connected one end of a long rubber tube to the nozzle of one of the atomizers and to the other end of the tube attached a small foot-operated pump that had once been part of a McMahon’s Play-time Potion Set that had belonged to one of the girls. 

Druella first went to the left side of the siren and stashed the foot-pumped atomizer between two cauldrons and aimed the nozzle up towards the siren. She then routed the rubber tube through a seam between the flagstones, running it all the way over to the path that all of the wizards would use to get into the circle. When she got there, she used a pen-knife to pry up one of the flagstones and hid the foot pump underneath before dropping the stone back on top. It was a little bit loose, but that was ideal, as it would give the pump space to actually perform its function. Experimentally, Druella stepped on the stone once and then twice. 

She walked back over to the siren, gratified to see a fine sheen of greenish-blue mist covering the statue’s left side. Druella herself would hide on the right side, applying the mist from the second atomizer personally. Unfortunately, it wasn’t a simple matter of coating the siren with the potion in one fell swoop: it had to be applied in minute amounts that needed to absorb slowly, or it wouldn’t work. The way Druella saw it, if she covered one side and the Coterie members covered the other, both dispensing small and measured increments, the statue should fall apart by the time Marcus tried to touch it. _Besides, it shall be all the sweeter if Abraxas’ own Coterie helps destroy his dangerous little captive,_ Druella thought with a smirk.

Now she could settle in and wait. Druella hunkered down behind some crates, making herself as small as possible by sitting cross-legged and arranging the cape around her, making the wet-dog smell waft into her nostrils. She was just in time as well, because she heard muffled voices that echoed and bounced strangely off of the stone walls, floor and ceiling. Druella swallowed, her heart starting to speed up. It was beginning.

Abraxas and Cygnus were the first. “…hope he can handle himself,” Cygnus was saying, his voice tinged with doubt.

“Oh, relax, Cygnus,” Abraxas huffed, coming into the dungeon first, already dressed in his deep red Archon robe with the hood down, the light of the sconces shining in his hair. He looked tired to Druella, with deep shadows under his piercing blue eyes. _And is he limping?_ Druella wondered as Abraxas seemed to be favoring his right leg just a bit. “Marcus Carrow may not be the fastest Snitch in the case, but I can tell you with absolute certainty that he will be loyal and obedient, perhaps to a fault.” Abraxas said this dismissively, as if anyone would be foolish to question it. 

“Is that all that matters to you now?” Cygnus asked.

Abraxas paused from where he stood at the ritual table in the center of the room. “Are we on about that again?” he asked in a bored voice. 

“Well, it’s just that—“

“I’d take a hundred obedient Marcus Carrows over one trouble-making Druella Black,” Abraxas snapped, turning to stare Cygnus down. “There. Is that what you wanted me to say?” 

Cygnus paused for a moment, clearly taken aback by this surprisingly unregulated outburst from Abraxas. “Is anything troubling you, Abraxas?” Cygnus' voice was low with concern.

Abraxas sighed and looked around, as if something was amiss but he couldn’t quite place what. He lifted his chin and sniffed. “Do you smell that?” 

_Oh, Merlin’s balls,_ Druella thought, her heart beating faster.

Cygnus sniffed also. “I smell nothing.”

Abraxas looked around once more. “Perhaps it _is_ nothing." Druella felt her entire being relax. “Shall we bring in the others?”

After a few moments, more wizards came in. To Druella’s immense relief and satisfaction, each stepped on the stone, aerosolizing more and more of the destructive potion to condense and absorb on the siren. Even better, some members went out and then back in, bringing in more equipment and ritual components. Cygnus did his part by greeting each member and making as much small talk as possible to give Druella time, per their plan. After all of the Coterie members had entered and then gathered in the circle, Orion Black began the ritual, making the usual noises about purity, obedience, and in the case of Marcus Carrow, the Oath of Secrecy. 

Marcus then entered the circle, his gait shuffling and uncertain. “Drink from the Chalice of Truth,” Abraxas intoned, holding an ornate goblet out to Marcus, who stood in a white Accolyte robe. He took the goblet and drank what Druella assumed was Veritaserum. “Now is the time to wake the Siren. As she is Silenced, so may no others pry the truth from your lips. In this manner may you faithfully keep the secrets of the Coterie of Oberon.” Abraxas took the goblet from Marcus and set it back on the table. “Go forth now and rouse the Siren from her sleep. So may it be.”

“ _So may it be…_ ” came the echo from dozens of loyal Coterie throats. The circle opened to let Marcus through to the siren statue. _This is it,_ Druella thought as she emptied the last of the destructive potion from her atomizer and backed away. _Time to end it._ Druella held absolutely still, barely even daring to breathe. The assembled Coterie members started chanting the next part of the ritual, not in synchronization, but as different voices this time, creating a susurrus of sound that echoed and bounced around the stone chamber. “ _With the silencing of the siren…so shall we silence the truth…never more may it be pulled from the Accolyte’s lips… not by compulsion…not by potion…not by poison, but only through his freely given will to tell the truth…we the Coterie bind him to Loyalty…we bind him to Secrecy…we bind him against Division…we bind him to Obedience…_ ”

Marcus walked somberly towards the statue. Even though Druella had moved further off to avoid anything dangerous that might happen with the siren’s destruction, she could still see that the look on Marcus’ face was that of a boy clearly out of his element. It almost made Druella feel bad for what was about to happen to him, but she realized that someone who had earned zero NEWTs had no business performing any communal ritual magic, even the masturbatory nonsense that the Coterie did. Instead of feeling pity for the Carrow lad, Druella set her jaw and watched the inevitable unfold in front of her.

Marcus was now six feet away from the siren and closing the distance quickly. He moved closer and closer and, as the chanting grew to a fever pitch, reached out his hand and caressed the siren’s bare arm, his face slack-jawed with wonder and no small amount of intimidation. There was a blinding flash of light, a deafening boom and a shockwave that shattered anything in the dungeon made of glass and cracked several stone floor tiles. Above it all, a high-pitched keening sound burst forth, one that made Druella’s hands fly to her ears. It was as if someone was jamming white-hot needles into the base of her skull and twisting them around. The sound was agonizing, not just because it was loud, but because it carried with it the pain of centuries of captivity and abuse, these death throes of the siren. 

Luckily, it only lasted a few seconds. The aural and psychic stress was enough to drop Druella’s Disillusionment Charm, but with everyone else similarly incapacitated, it didn’t matter. However, as soon as Druella regained her senses, she re-cast it as quietly as she could. All around her, members of the Coterie lay on the flagstones, most groaning in pain. Druella’s eyes flew to Marcus Carrow, who was sprawled on his back and wasn’t moving, blood trickling out of his ear. Druella’s heart sank. Her ruse had worked all right, a little too well. She hadn’t meant Marcus to be collateral damage, and had to fight the urge to drop her Disillusionment Charm and cape to rush and help in the aftermath of her own decisions. 

Instead, Druella wrenched her eyes away to look at where the siren had stood. All that remained was a broken steel gag, its runes permanently darkened and a pile of pure white dust. Druella’s plan had gone perfectly. The siren was no more. _Then why do I feel so empty?_ Druella wondered. 

Abraxas recovered soon after Druella and moved to Marcus’ side, Orion with him. Orion knelt and took a pulse on the lad’s carotid. before nodding once. “He’ll live,” he proclaimed in his mild voice.

Abraxas sneered. “It is as well. I need him to survive so I can kill him myself.” 

Cygnus had now come up on the scene. “Surely you don’t think Marcus did this on purpose…?” He placed a hand on Abraxas’ arm. 

Abraxas turned quickly to him. “Whether he did or not is immaterial. He destroyed a magical artifact even _I_ could not begin to put a price on, in addition to permanently crippling a key part of the Coterie’s initiation.” He kept his voice calm, but the tension in his shoulders, the faint tremor in his hands and his tightly clipped speech painted the picture of barely-contained fury. 

While they spoke, Orion had started treatment on Marcus, moving his wand over Marcus’ body slowly, dispensing a floating, purple mist. “Abraxas, would you be so kind as to drop your wards so that I can transport him to St. Mungo’s?” he asked.

Abraxas sighed in annoyance, drew his wand and performed the sequence necessary to drop the Malfoy wards. _That’s my cue,_ Druella thought. Without meaning to, Marcus Carrow had given her the best possible chance she would have to escape from Malfoy Manor without being detected. As soon as Orion Disapparated, Druella followed suit. She materialized in Blackwood Hall mere seconds later. 

The first thing she did was to doff the cloak and leave it lying in a smelly heap on the marble floor of the atrium. The second thing she did was to summon a house elf and order it to clean the cloak. The third was to go and pour herself a triple shot of Firewhiskey. Druella sat in the drawing room and sipped it as she moodily waited for Cygnus to come home. When he finally did, Druella had become mildly drunk, which muted the intensity of the evening somewhat.

Cygnus sought her out and dropped the now-shattered atomizers, the tubing and the foot pump at Druella’s feet in an untidy pile. He then poured his own generous drink and sat next to her on another arm chair. They both sat and sipped in silence for a time. “Well, Ella, we did it,” he said with a cheer that sounded forced to Druella.

“Indeed." Druella reached out and clinked glasses with him, but it all seemed perfunctory. “It feels like a hollow victory though...”

Cygnus smiled, but his forehead was drawn. “Surely you couldn’t have expected it to happen with no damage to anyone else, could you? You know how these things work: there has to be balance, you know.”

“Balance,” Druella said, tasting the word. As far as she was concerned, anything that diminished Abraxas’ power or that of the Coterie helped restore balance. The whole reason she had wanted to destroy the siren was to restore balance; after all, wasn’t that what revenge was all about? Moreover, it meant that the siren could no longer hurt Lucius. But Druella was still out of the Coterie permanently; destroying the siren hadn’t changed that and the deed had injured a more or less innocent party. Druella took another sip of her drink. “Is he going to be all right? The Carrow boy?”

Cygnus shrugged. “I imagine so. Orion didn’t seem concerned.”

Druella sniggered. “He never _does_ though. You could curse his cock clean off and he’d probably say something like, ‘Oh dear…how troubling.’” She got Orion’s inflection, or perhaps lack thereof spot-on.

Cygnus chuckled and raised his glass in Druella’s direction. “You’re something else, Ella, do you know that?” 

Druella nodded. “That I am. Something else entirely. Speaking of out-of-the-ordinary humans, how is Abraxas taking it?”

Cygnus’ smile faded. “He’s livid. What did you expect? But don’t worry; he completely blames the Carrow lad. I think I talked him down from murdering him to simply banishing him from the Coterie.” He sighed. “Ah well, it’s for the best. Marcus Carrow was never cut out for this sort of caper anyway.”

“My thoughts exactly. I would rather have had him avoid injury, but…what’s done is done and done for the best.” Druella knew she was spouting this platitude to justify any guilt she felt as it would serve no one at this point. After she finished her drink, she summoned another house elf to take care of the incriminating pile of equipment and debris on the floor. Druella then bathed quickly and washed her hair to get the rank smell of the cloak out and crashed into bed, falling asleep almost instantly.

The following day she booked an appointment with Casimir. Running into Robena March at Isadora’s the last time hadn’t been exactly a picnic, but nothing had seemed to come of it, and Druella needed to unwind. Casimir was available, luckily, and after a gymnastic and novel lovemaking session, Druella let Casimir draw her a bath in his oversized sunken tub. Its floor and sides were done in an erotic mosaic of merpeople engaging in a variety of adult acts. It was amongst this tableau that Druella relaxed back against Casimir’s chest as he lazily bathed her with a tentacle, while holding her with the others and massaging her shoulders with his hands.

During this lovely diversion, Druella relaxed enough to allow the entire siren story spill out from beginning to end. Casimir listened patiently, but as Druella talked about how the potion had reduced the siren to a pile of dust, Casimir stiffened and the tentacle caressing Druella’s neck suddenly tensed. “Not so tight, dear,” Druella admonished him, momentarily alarmed. 

Casimir complied instantly with a “So sorry, my sweet, forgot myself for a moment.” His tone was light, but some dangerous undercurrent lay beneath his untroubled demeanor and it perturbed Druella enough for her to disentangle herself gently.

“I’d best be headed home,” Druella said, drying herself with efficiency before she wrapped the towel around herself to fashion a wrap. 

Casimir climbed from the bath in a way that seemed deliberate and careful to Druella. He stood in front of her in all of his naked, dripping glory, his tentacles shining wetly in the candlelight. “So soon?" He smiled, but his eyes remained cold.

“Yes,” Druella replied as she dressed. “Send me a bill, I’ll see that it’s paid.” Druella winced at hearing how heartless this sounded, but the fact remained that they were engaging in commerce. Something also had imperceptibly shifted between them and now every instinct was screaming at her to exit herself as quickly as possible. Keeping it businesslike helped keep her calm if nothing else.

Casimir put a fist over his heart and bowed, his tentacles wandering as always. “As my lady wishes,” he said, an edge to his voice.

Without another word, Druella left, closing the door behind her. She was about to proceed down the hall to exit, but paused at the sounds she now heard emanating behind that same door: shattering, banging, crashing, all the sounds of a person or creature losing control. Druella felt a chill. She wasn’t so naïve as to believe that theirs was any more than a professional relationship, but the truth was that she did feel fond of Casimir and even though she wasn’t heedless enough to go back in the door, she sincerely hoped he was all right. 

Instead, Druella straightened her spine and marched down the hallway. In the end she realized that Casimir’s reaction was none of her affair. Perhaps she shouldn’t have said anything about the siren, but he had told her repeatedly how good he was at keeping secrets and she felt as if she had to tell someone or she would burst. Who could fathom why he reacted how he did? Druella kept her paces measured, one foot in front of the other, already having accepted the reality of never seeing Casimir Mataxas again. It was just as well; nothing good could come of her getting too close to such a creature, one not even human. She had had her fun, same as Cygnus. They were nowhere near even, but she at last had given herself permission to indulge her own desires, as Cygnus had done for the duration of their marriage.

Druella walked up the iron staircase outside of Isadora’s and back into the alley. As she made her way through Borgin and Burke’s, her heart lightened somewhat. When Druella stepped out into Diagon Alley, she felt the sun warm on her face. For just a moment, she stood on the cobblestones, closed her eyes, and sighed. The world had righted itself and she had helped it happen. At the end of the day, it was all a body could do.


	27. Ch. 65: Debts Settled; Ch. 66: Metamorphosis; Ch. 67: Balance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Robena gone, Abraxas reconciles with Lucius by giving him a gift. Lucius finally returns Pi to Apollo. Robena finds the end of her line. Abraxas makes a disturbing discovery about Francois, one that has long-reaching implications for him. 
> 
> _"I know now that you did indeed choose me, our family, and our bloodline, and that it wasn’t an easy decision for you,” Abraxas said, his voice quiet. “I fear I may have been too harsh on you that day, Lucius.” His eyes found Lucius,’ “but please understand that I do all that I do out of the strong bond that you and I share, not just with each other, but with the entire succession of Malfoys before us. Without family loyalty…” for a moment, Abraxas’ voice faltered and Lucius looked at him in surprise. Abraxas recovered quickly. “Without family loyalty,” he said, his voice stronger, “the entire enterprise falls apart.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Four loose ends wrapped up: one deadly, one tragic, one happy, and one karmic. I ain't gonna tell you which one is which. All I can say is, I am not a very nice person.

SIXTY-FIVE: DEBTS SETTLED

Lucius sat in the large drawing room, moodily bouncing his Boomerang Ball around, not trying to keep quiet. He hadn’t seen the demiguise, nor was he even trying at this point. Despite his apathy about making noise and drawing attention to himself, Lucius managed to avoid his father for three days after throwing him off of Robena’s trail. Lucius caught the ball and paused. _Had that even happened?_ he wondered. His memory of the day was poor after the moment he had almost caught the demiguise. All he could recall were bits and snatches: the Fell Circle, Pi, Robena running past him with blood on her hands. The rest was a blur.

Lucius wasn’t even sure how he had gotten back into the house that day, only that he had managed it successfully and collapsed in bed. When he had risen the next morning, he found Pi on a side table in his room, so it too had made it back from the woods, thank everything holy. Just to be cautious, Lucius quickly stashed it under his bed. Still, Lucius knew that despite his efforts, Abraxas had won and that one way or another, Robena was gone. Lucius had risked everything and gained nothing. It left him feeling numb and with Robena out of his life, the entire house had a silent, fatalistic inevitability about it. It was Malfoy Manor, after all; it had stood for centuries while Merlin-knew-what transpired within its walls and on its grounds. It had endured through all of it, ineffable, unyielding, unchanging, and at this point, even Lucius had to admit, reassuring.

Caught with sudden impulse, Lucius stashed the Boomerang Ball in his pocket and left the drawing room, following familiar and well-trod paths through the halls of Malfoy Manor until he emerged outside on the terrace overlooking the formal garden. The day was fine, a second in a row miraculously free of rain. Lucius made his way quickly through the formal garden and out to the meadow. The sun beat down on his face, but the favorable weather did little to make him feel better; the fine day seemed bereft and empty without Robena to share it with. Even the few late white narcissus blossoms at the treeline filled Lucius with despair. 

Lucius’ feet retraced his steps from the day of Robena’s disappearance and before long, he found himself standing within the Fell Circle. The siren was still missing, but this didn’t surprise Lucius in the least. Wizards had met at Malfoy Manor just the previous evening, following a pattern known to Lucius. He looked at all the other statues in turn: the dryad, the faun, the Pegasus…ending with the horrific and deadly manticore. Lucius moved closer to this last and crouched down, examining the leaves in front of it. 

Sure enough, one of them showed a splash of blood, not six inches from the manticore’s marble base. Lucius felt a lump rise in his throat. _That’s how father did it,_ he thought with bitter resolution, _That’s how Robena March met her end._ Lucius had researched every creature in the Fell Circle, ever since first discovering that they existed. He thus knew that the manticore consumed people, making them disappear without a trace: clothes, artifacts, and all. It was a fitting guardian for the Malfoy family, all things considered. 

Lucius stood, knowing that there was nothing he could do. He didn’t feel like crying. He didn’t feel like anything. Nothing seemed real: not the Fell Circle, not the flowers, not even the sun. Without much intention, Lucius let his feet carry him back to Malfoy Manor. He drifted around the library for a while until the snap of an Apparating house elf made him look up from the book he held in his lap, reading the same paragraph over and over. “Master Lucius, Master Abraxas would see you at your earliest convenience in the small drawing room.”

Lucius said nothing, just stood and threw his book to the side of the cushion underneath the bay window. He wasn't about to put it away; with Robena gone, what was the point? Another series of steps and he found himself outside the small drawing room. Lucius walked through the open door. His father stood at the sideboard, pouring himself a drink as usual. On the table in front of the couch sat a large, lumpy bag with something in it that Lucius couldn’t identify. He greeted his father with a nod. “Father,” he said without inflection.

“Lucius. Have a seat.” Abraxas' tone was quiet, almost funereal, without any trace of his usual superiority or sarcasm, mildly raising Lucius’ curiosity. 

Lucius did as he was told, sitting on his usual side of the couch. His father joined him presently and took a sip of his drink. “Where’s Miss March?” Lucius asked, not caring if it earned him another beating.

“Gone.” Abraxas' voice turned cold. “She has…quit Malfoy Manor for good. I’ll not discuss the matter further. But fret not: you shall have a new governess within a fortnight. I would not neglect your upbringing and education any longer than necessary.” He took another drink.

Lucius nodded, knowing how pointless it would be to press the issue. “Another Muggle-born?” he still couldn’t help but ask.

“You needn’t concern yourself with your new governess’ pedigree. As I said, there is no more to discuss on the subject.” He said this last ominously. Lucius kept his mouth shut. Abraxas continued. “Besides, discussing your governance is not why I called you in here today.” 

“No?” Lucius asked, knowing that he sounded resigned, broken even. 

“Not at all.” Abraxas turned to the side and put his drink on the end table. He shifted his body on the couch to face Lucius. “You said something to me the evening we…spoke about pureblooded responsibility. It was something that in my anger, I dismissed, but I have since had time to mull it over.” He leaned towards Lucius now, placed his forearms on his knees and pitched his voice low. “You said that you chose me that day.” 

Lucius winced. It was probably the worst thing that his father could have brought up, as the fateful decision had brought Lucius nothing but misery. “I did,” he said, his voice tight.

Abraxas’ eyes shifted to the side for a moment, and because Lucius had never seen him anything but completely assured in his own righteousness, it was unnerving to glimpse this other, vulnerable side of Abraxas. “I know now that you did indeed choose me, our family, and our bloodline, and that it wasn’t an easy decision for you. I fear I may have been too harsh on you that day, Lucius.” His eyes found Lucius,’ “but please understand that I do all that I do out of the strong bond that you and I share, not just with each other, but with the entire succession of Malfoys before us. Without family loyalty…” for a moment, Abraxas’ voice faltered and Lucius looked at him in surprise. Abraxas recovered quickly. “Without family loyalty,” he said, his voice stronger, “the entire enterprise falls apart.” He looked at Lucius once more. “And never have I felt more that I that I have conveyed that successfully than that day. I have never been prouder of you, Lucius.”

Lucius didn’t know what to say. The price for his choice had been unimaginably and agonizingly steep, so much so that Lucius still could not bear to think about it. “What’s in the bag?” he finally asked.

Abraxas smiled. “Well, let’s just say it’s a small token of my appreciation for your loyalty. After the other day, I daresay you’ve earned it.” He leaned back, putting one elbow over the back of the couch. “Go ahead and open it, Lucius.” 

Lucius moved forward slowly and undid the strings of the bag before pulling the bag open and letting it fall around whatever was inside. Lucius saw unmistakable, shimmering fur and as the bag fell away. The round, staring eyes of the slain demiguise met Lucius’ own. Lucius’ heart plummeted. “No…” he whispered.

Next to him, Abraxas’ smile widened. He held up a hand. “No need to thank me, Lucius. A simple Killing Curse and the job was done. You’ll have your new cloak before your governess arrives, I should think.” Abraxas stood, drained his drink, and set his glass down on the sideboard. “By the way, how were _you_ planning on doing it?” 

Lucius hesitated. He could no more tell Abraxas the truth than he could bring Robena back. “I was going to wait in the shadows and then pounce on it with a bag not unlike this one. I stalked it each day for months, but…” Lucius let his voice trail off.

Abraxas chuckled. “Oh, Lucius, you would have had to try far harder than that. I’m disappointed that you didn’t come up with anything more enterprising.” He paused. “Then again, showing me such tremendous loyalty also won you the demiguise, so perhaps you’re cleverer than I thought. In any event, you got what you wanted.” He smiled once more and then exited, leaving Lucius and the demiguise alone.

Hesitantly, Lucius reached out and stroked the dead demiguise. Its fur shimmered under his fingers. It was so soft, softer than Lucius had imagined. Each fiber rippled and intermittently showed Lucius’ fingers underneath. _There one minute, gone the next,_ Lucius thought. A tear slipped down his cheek, falling and disappearing into the thick fur. A sudden anguish ripped through Lucius’ chest and he grasped the magical fur in both hands, leaning his head onto his forearms as sobs wracked his body, making his abdomen cramp and his breath come in short bursts. 

The sense of loss felt like surf crashing over Lucius, a riptide threatening to carry him out to sea and drown him, filling his lungs with saltwater, with tears shed for Robena, for Georgina, even for the bloody demiguise, in a similar plight as the other two: its life destroyed for having the appallingly bad manners of crossing Abraxas Malfoy’s path. Lucius cried as he took the demiguise onto his lap, stroking it and rocking it like a baby all while knowing he was flirting dangerously with madness even as he did it. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m sorry.” Whether he was talking to the demiguise, Georgina, Robena, or even his own mother, Lucius couldn’t be sure. He stayed there for a long time, letting everything out and letting everything go. 

When he was done, Lucius felt empty, drained of any remaining feeling. He awkwardly put the dead demiguise back into the bag and summoned a house elf to take care of it. True to Abraxas’ word, the cloak arrived by owl post five days later. The cloak was crafted impeccably, with growing enchantments worked in of course, per Abraxas, so it would always fit Lucius. Lucius tried it on to avoid an unnecessary fight with Abraxas, but even as he watched it bend reality around him in exactly the manner he had dreamed, instead of exciting him, it sickened him. Lucius knew it would be the first and last time he ever wore it. 

Also true to Abraxas’ word, his new governess arrived one week after the demiguise cloak. Her name was Nelinda Bunch. She was of medium height, with nut-brown hair and long eyelashes. She greeted Lucius warmly and told him how glad she was to be his governess. Lucius merely nodded. “Miss Bunch,” he responded. Following that, he never initiated conversation with her. He was dutiful, respectful, courteous, but only ever answered her questions and in as few words as possible. He didn’t come to her room in her first week. He didn’t show her the Owlery. He didn’t take her out into the woods to see the wildflowers. To Lucius, any of that seemed a breach of loyalty. For her part, Miss Bunch seemed disappointed with his lack of response to her sincere efforts to build a rapport with him, but Lucius felt no compunction in not reciprocating her warmth.

Lucius’ detachment paid off. After six weeks in Malfoy Manor, sure enough Miss Bunch started showing up to lessons with bruises around her mouth, her manner wide-eyed and skittish. One afternoon, when Lucius was passing by his father’s study, he heard slaps, pleading, crying. He heard his father speaking calmly but firmly. Lucius paused for a moment before he turned and walked down the hall. He felt nothing, neither sad nor angry, not even surprised. He didn’t think of Georgina or Robena, just turned his thoughts elsewhere and went about his day. 

A few days later, Lucius was playing idly with his Boomerang Ball in his room, bouncing it off of his wall, his wardrobe, and his nightstand. He brought out a second ball and, after a great deal of practice, found that he could bounce the first and then the second, keeping them in careful timing so that as one bounced on the floor, the other would be on the nightstand, following it exactly two bounces behind. Lucius counted how long he could keep this form of juggling rhythm going, finding that engaging his mind and body in such a manner proved meditative and calming. 

It made a soothing sound, like the ticking of a clock or the dripping of water. Lucius let it mesmerize him as he counted in his mind… _one, two, three…drip, drip, drip…ball bouncing…drip, drip, drip…arrows loosed into trees, one, two, three…a chase in the forest…drip, drip, drip...a dozen Robenas…one, two, three….promise me, Lucius…your strongest oath…_ Lucius jarred himself out of his reverie just in time for both of the balls to crash into each other mid-air. 

One went wide, bouncing crazily off a bedpost before rolling across the Oriental rug. The other rolled under the bed. Cursing, Lucius knelt down. His hair, uncut since Robena left, fell in his eyes and he impatiently brushed it aside. He could see nothing under the bed, so he did the only thing he could: lay prone on the floor and reached under as far as he could. His fingers brushed errant socks, Gobstones, and the other detritus that had accumulated underneath. 

Lucius cursed again and wiggled down towards the foot of the bed, his arm still underneath the bed, his fingers sweeping over the smooth, cold marble of the floor. His hand finally found something, but it wasn’t the Boomerang Ball. It was a box with some sort of apparatus protruding from one side. Lucius gripped it as best he could in his awkward position and withdrew his arm. 

Clutched in his hand was Pi. Lucius closed his eyes and turned his head to the side, trying hard not to re-live the last time he had switched it on. He felt that same rising tide of loss and guilt build in his chest and opened his eyes. By sheer will, he forced the tide back down again, deciding that it was high time he kept his word and returned the device to its rightful owner. Luckily for Lucius, he glimpsed in the _Daily Prophet_ the next day that Apollo Lovegood was due to host another talk at Flourish and Blott’s the following Saturday.

Lucius secured his father’s permission and Miss Bunch’s company and, tucking Pi carefully under his arm, traveled by Floo Powder once again into Diagon Alley. It was now early summer, and flocks of witches and wizards massed in the alley, window shopping, socializing, arguing, and generally doing what wizardkind did when together. Lucius gave a sidelong glance towards Miss Bunch, whose eyes roved the bustling street with the sort of yearning that came with any sort of prolonged confinement in Malfoy Manor. 

“You may go and amuse yourself, Miss Bunch,” Lucius said, drawing the same tone of authority that his father used with underlings, the one that invited no protestation from any with a weaker will, a class of people to which Miss Bunch definitely belonged. 

Her eyes flicked to the side and then down to the cobblestones. “I don’t know if Mr. Malfoy would like that.” Her voice barely raised above a whisper.

 _She won’t last another month,_ Lucius thought callously. _She doesn’t have one tenth the intelligence or fortitude of…_ He shook his head minutely, dismissing the end of the thought. Instead he gave his new governess a cold look. “Don’t be ridiculous, Miss Bunch. It’s clear to me that you’d rather be window shopping and I can assure you that I’ll be perfectly safe without you. It seems my decision serves both of us. Wouldn’t you agree?” Lucius turned from her and marched into the bookstore before Miss Bunch could say anything else. He didn’t even bother to look back. He knew what she would do. 

Lucius made his way into the back of Flourish and Blott’s. To his surprise, this time Apollo had amassed a significantly larger audience than the last time. Lucius wasn’t sure if it was because this meeting was being held on a Saturday or because Apollo’s ideas were starting to gain traction with a wider group of witches and wizards. Lucius kept to the back of the audience, in a semi-circle comprised of those who hadn’t made it in time to claim one of the rickety wooden chairs. 

“…the geomancy of the circle dovetails neatly into the theory of the Nexus of Existence,” Apollo was saying, gesturing at the magical circles he had conjured in the air above the audience. “Now, of course the Nexus of Existence is just that: theoretical. But, I posit that if we extrapolate noted magi-scholar Julian Boudman’s Laws of Fated Principality, the conclusions _do_ present what _I_ think is…” He raised both hands, palms out towards the audience, raised an eyebrow and nodded before his eyes caught Lucius. His brows rose higher before contracting as a small, quizzical smile graced his face. “…a point well worth further consideration,” he concluded. 

Lucius nodded once, keeping his own face neutral and detached even as his heart sped up and he felt as his insides twist. He took a deep breath to relax, somewhat baffled at his own physical response. Apollo was no threat, after all. 

“Thank you, ladies and gentlemen; that will be all.” Apollo dropped his hands once more.

The assembled company clapped with enthusiasm. Bit by bit, the audience cleared out, with several people talking animatedly about the lecture. A few came up to speak with Apollo and it was obvious to Lucius that they were blown away by his ideas. Of course Apollo received them with humility, grace, and humor. In observing him, once again Lucius felt an unidentified tugging at his heart. 

Finally, the last audience member left, a tall thin wizard with a goatee dyed an unfortunate shade of green. Apollo watched him go and then turned his attention to Lucius. “Well, young Master Malfoy,” he said, his smile crinkling his eyes. “What brings you to this charming bookstore today?” He looked warmly around the wooden shelves and dusty windows as he said this.

“Oh, I was just in the neighborhood, as it were,” Lucius responded, smiling.

“Is that so?” Apollo's good humor cooled slightly at Lucius’ dissembling.

Lucius brought out Pi and held it out to Apollo. “That, and I thought it a good opportunity to return your device along with my gratitude.”

With this, Apollo’s smile faded entirely. He closed the distance between the two of them, took Pi from Lucius and held it up between them. “Tell me, if you would, Lucius, did it bring you what you had hoped it would?” he asked seriously and yet without rancor.

Lucius didn’t let his smile slip even a little. “Absolutely." 

Apollo took a step back. “Was it worth it?” He placed Pi carefully into his satchel. “Losing my trust and my good opinion?” He looked back up at Lucius with pain in his eyes. “Losing my friendship and Xeno’s?”

At this, Lucius felt his own smile fade. “I knew the price, Mr. Lovegood,” he answered, his own voice quiet. “Nothing in life is free, particularly those things we want most.” Lucius tilted his head to the side. “Besides, didn’t Xeno get the best—well, _second_ -best—broom money can buy?” He smiled once more. “So, the way I see it, everyone won, including your family. Not only do you have your device back in pristine condition, but a broomstick for your son that you could never have afforded.”

Apollo came back over to Lucius and raised his hand. For moment, Lucius thought that Apollo might strike him for such insolence, but instead, Apollo clasped him on the shoulder. “Oh, Lucius,” he sighed. “Merlin bless and keep you, my boy. Don’t you understand? It was never about a broomstick…or a device…or a transaction of any kind.” He smiled at Lucius sadly, giving his shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “It was about you.” He tapped Lucius in the chest with the index finger of his other hand for emphasis. “We _liked_ you, both of us did, and unless I miss my guess, I would say you liked us too. You betrayed us not because you traded for a device, but because you sought us out under false pretenses.” He shook his head. “I would have gifted you Pi with no questions asked if it had meant keeping your trust and friendship.” 

Lucius felt his eyes prickling. He had to leave at once. _I should have owl-posted the infernal thing,_ he thought. Instead, he broke from Apollo, turned sharply away without another word and strode back towards the front of the store.

“Lucius?” Apollo called as Lucius passed the last of the chairs. 

Lucius stopped in his tracks, but didn’t turn around. He didn’t dare.

“Our door is always open,” Apollo said.

The gentleness and compassion in his voice hurt Lucius more than any sharp words could have and almost made Lucius turn around. Instead, he steeled himself and walked away from Apollo and out of Flourish and Blott’s. Back in the alley, Miss Bunch caught up with him. “We’re going,” Lucius said.

“But surely you don’t want to leave just yet, Lucius.” Miss Bunch gave him a smile and a simpering head tilt that made his flesh crawl.

Lucius glared at her. “I can assure you I meant what I said.” He injected ice into his voice. “As I always do. If you have any hope of keeping your place in Malfoy Manor, Miss Bunch, you’ll learn that quickly. Do I make myself clear?”

Miss Bunch’s eyes filled with hurt. Her lower lip trembled.

Lucius sighed in vexation. “I dislike repeating myself, Miss Bunch. I said, ‘do I make myself clear?’” 

Miss Bunch nodded miserably.

“Good. We’re going home.” Lucius turned from her and walked back to the Floo portal. Miss Bunch joined him without further protests. Lucius took the Floo powder from the bag that Miss Bunch held out to him and stepped into the fireplace. He lifted up his hand and then spoke confidently, neither hesitating nor wavering before releasing the powder. 

“Malfoy Manor.” 

SIXTY-SIX: METAMORPHOSIS

The sunlight shone down brightly and it seemed to Robena as if it was brand new somehow, clean and shining with perfect clarity. She beat her wings once, twice, letting the warm air currents carry her higher over the sapphire ocean. Robena knew she was dreaming but for once she didn’t care. She simply enjoyed the sensation of the wind flowing over her wings and through her hair, making it whip and play about her face. She laughed out loud for the sheer joy of it, knowing that any minute she would wake up and be…where? 

Doubts started to creep in and Robena saw the standing rocks in the brilliant blue ocean grow a bit larger as she lost some altitude. Robena churned her wings again, gaining that altitude back, her heart beating fast from the exercise and the exhilaration. _Any moment now…_ she thought, _any moment I shall wake up to…_ For some reason she was having a difficult time recalling what that wakefulness actually encompassed. 

This world did indeed feel entirely realized, more so than ever before in her life, this world in which her strong, powerful wings carried her far across the ocean with a swiftness Hermes himself would envy. _Then what was I dreaming about before I flew across this part of the ocean?_ she wondered, as again doubt pricked at the edges of her consciousness. This time, she let it carry her gently down. As she banked, the sun hit her eye just right, lighting all of the blood vessels within so that she could see them, a thousand microscopic fibers all arrayed as weaving bands of light. It reminded her of something, another life in which she gazed up at interlaced filaments of brightness, waiting for…something.

Below she could see her sisters waving at her, all six of them, each with wings roughly the same color as their hair. Chloe, the youngest, saw her first and ran to her. “I thought you had gotten lost up there,” she greeted Robena, taking her hand warmly. Her nut-brown curls danced around her face and her hazel eyes were merry. 

”Perhaps I had,” Robena answered, giving Chloe’s hand an affectionate squeeze. “I thought that I was in a dream and that any minute I could wake up.”

“Your head is always in the clouds.” Chloe laughed. 

“Literally and figuratively.” Now that Robena stood on the beach, she felt rationality returning to her and the infinite amount of knowledge stored in her head a comforting weight grounding her. She watched the sand between her toes, sand made of calcium from the seashells of the creatures that had died long ago and given their tiny bodies in sacrifice to the ocean, the beach, the world…the once-mighty rocks that the mighty sea had also reduced to powder. If Robena closed her eyes, she could see every single creature and geological structure that the ocean had reduced to sand, down to the molecule. It made her dizzy and she opened her eyes once more. 

“And you are simply covered in sand,” Chloe said, dropping her hand so she could brush Robena’s draped garment. She gave the task up after a moment as hopeless.

“Perhaps I had better find a clean tunic,” Robena said. She departed from Chloe and walked to the cave some fifty paces up from the beach. It was clean, cool and dim within, its interior light blue and shimmering on the walls. The source was the perfectly round pool in the center of the cave. Once again it reminded Robena of something, but she couldn’t recall what. She removed her tunic and shook the sand out, and then went over to the pegs where others hung and selected one, a deep green she knew would complement her eyes. Before she put it on, though, mostly out of curiosity and the sense of surreality that had plagued her all day, Robena wandered over to the pool.

Hesitantly, she bent forward to see her own reflection staring back at her. She looked as she always had and yet something about her was profoundly different. For one, her eyes glowed by themselves, with emerald fire ringing the deep black pupils. Also, there was some sort of anomaly bilaterally placed on her neck. Robena took a closer look and saw that it was raised, pink scar tissue, two parallel ovals, one on each side of her trachea. She frowned and looked down at her chest noting as well that there were two scars there as well, one on the right side of the ribs and one on the left. Bemused by her lack of recall as to how she had gotten the scars, Robena put on her new tunic, securing it with a girdle. 

She freed her hair, suddenly exhausted. _Perhaps I need to sleep rather than wake,_ she thought. Robena found a pile of cushions neatly arranged in one corner of the cave. _Yes,_ she thought, settling into the comforting softness, _A lie-down would set me right._ She tucked her head under one of her great wings, closed her eyes and fell asleep. 

When she awoke, she floated in a dark void, unsure if she was in water or air. Above her, a network of lines of all different colors, thicknesses and brightnesses, pulsing with light and energy extended infinitely into the distance. Robena looked down and saw a golden one extending out of her midsection, but instead of connecting with the nexus, it went out from her before fading into nothingness. Robena felt sudden panic, as well as pain in her throat and in both sides of her chest. When she looked down she could see blood clouding out into the void and could feel her heart slowing down.

Just then she saw a presence swimming towards her, identical in every way to the dreams Robena had had in the past. The figure had a very strange shape, neither man nor creature, but something with arms, legs, and tentacles. Its mouth moved and it said something to Robena, but she couldn’t hear. “What?” she called. 

It drew nearer, but still Robena couldn’t hear anything. She shrugged helplessly, even as her vision started fading in and out. _I’m dying,_ she thought. _I’m dying._ She floated closer and closer to the end of her own line, watching it pay out like a fisherman’s reel, drawing her towards the infinity of death. In watching it approach, she felt somewhat calmer, knowing that there was nothing she could do to stop it.

Suddenly, her line jerked her like the fish she felt she was and she saw the creature taking her line in one of his tentacles. “Stop,” she tried to say. “There’s nothing you can do.” But despite Robena’s attempt to communicate with it, it didn’t hear her, didn’t understand her, or was ignoring her completely. Instead, the creature was bent intently to its task, taking her line from tentacle to hand, while in his other hand ran a different line, this one a blue-green, brighter and stronger than her own and cut sharply off. Running parallel to it were six others of the same nature, but all different colors. Robena wanted to look at them and marvel at their beauty, but the tugging at her own line was increasingly distracting. 

To Robena’s surprise, the creature started tying the two lines together. _Can that even be done?_ Robena wondered. Whether it could or not was immaterial, the creature was doing it, wrapping her line with the other line, the other line with hers, over and around in a complex splice before spinning it between his fingers while his mouth moved and his eyes closed tight. Energy started pulsing into Robena now and she felt her heart speed back up once again. She looked down and saw the wounds in her chest starting to close, the blood slowing. 

More alarming still were the thoughts that had started to flood into Robena’s head, so many facts and stories it was as if someone was pouring the contents of every library in human civilization into her mind. She put her hands up to the side of her head, but it didn’t have any effect, the pressure built until Robena thought she might go mad. Still, as her gold line ran out and she approached the larger, stronger, blue-green line, the pressure abated, as if her mind was expanding to one adapted to accommodating so much knowledge. Instead of panicking, Robena felt a sense of power growing within her.

Her line grew shorter and shorter, now a foot, now six inches, before the last few inches disappeared into her center and she started on the blue-green line. As soon as that happened, she felt a great surge of magical energy in her throat and she screamed as loud as she could, but it wasn’t a scream of terror or rage, but one of exultation. It was so loud that the creature, now next to her, put his hands up to his ears. Above Robena, the entire nexus seemed to tremble, lines thrumming. 

Robena smiled even as tears came to her eyes. She wanted to sing, to scream, to bring the world to its knees with the power that she now possessed. 

“Finally,” said the creature. 

“Wh-what did you do?” Even Robena's speaking voice carried a new clarity and power. 

The creature smiled and shook a finger at her in admonishment. “You’re a lucky girl, you know; if anyone else’s blood but yours had been the last blood to touch Daphne before her statue was destroyed, this would never have worked.”

Robena felt her brows contract. “Blood? Statue? Daphne? What?”

If anything, the creature’s smile widened. “You’re also a clever girl, you’ll figure it out.” With that, he moved behind her and gave her a mighty shove between the shoulder blades.

With that, Robena took off like a meteor, down the blue green line and away from the nexus, faster and faster. The void bent and warped around her and all the while she felt a prickling between her shoulder blades. Soon an even stranger sensation assaulted her: the changing architecture of her own anatomy, calcium emptying from her bones, hollowing them and pouring the raw material out into her new wings that grew, feathered and expanded as she traveled down this blue-green line, faster and faster.

Robena screamed again, the sound reverberating and bouncing back into her own ears, making her quiver like a released bowstring ( _releasing an arrow that ends life, starts life, channeling energy out, down, back around...in a circle..._ ). While her own chaotic thoughts fluttered around her head, Robena closed her eyes and beat her wings in some attempt to control her own movement and cut through the split consciousness that argued with itself like a cat chasing its tail. This movement felt natural to her; she had dreamed it enough times. She beat her wings again and again. Robena didn’t dare open her eyes, she had to go on faith that whatever she was doing was working. She concentrated merely on a rhythmic flap, glide, flap, glide…When she opened her eyes again, she was flying high above the ocean, the wind making her eyes water.

Now Robena heard singing, the most beautiful song she had ever heard in her life. She closed her eyes to better hear it. The song came to an end and Robena opened her eyes once again, now back in the cave nestled in her pile of soft cushions. The day had waned and when Robena sat up and looked towards the mouth of the cave, she could see the sun on the very edge of the horizon, painting the sky yellow that turned to orange, and finally to purple higher in the sky, all reflected in the opposite order on the now-calm sea. 

Her sisters had built a fire and now were sitting around it, wings folded. They smiled at Robena as she approached. Chloe gestured for Robena to join her as they started a new song. It was one Robena hadn’t heard before, but she found that she quickly could provide the harmony to it. As they sang, the sun set and the soft warm darkness descended. Robena could feel the melody and harmony pouring down her spine to fill her from the tips of her toes to the top of her head. Out in the ocean, a bioluminescent tide had started, and to Robena’s surprise, it pulsed and flowed with their holy song. 

A tear made its way down Robena’s face to splash in the sand at her feet. Her heart had never felt so full. They started a new song, and when that was done, another, each sweeter and more powerful than the last. A blanket of stars spread over them and Robena took a deep breath, filling her lungs with that which powered her unparalleled voice, her song, her very life. She looked at each of her sisters in turn, seeing the happiness she felt mirrored on each of their faces.

Robena was home.

SIXTY-SEVEN: BALANCE

“Hold still, damn you.”

“Sorry, Mr. Malfoy.”

“I told you not to call me that,” Abraxas growled at the whore lying spread-eagle beneath him. “Honestly, you have but two jobs,” he scolded her between breaths, “to shut up and to to let me do as I please. It’s exceedingly simple.” Frustrated, he disengaged and gestured for her to turn over. There, that was better. Without seeing her face, if she didn’t say anything, it helped to maintain the illusion. He ran his hands through her auburn hair, catching it and holding it tight. 

The establishment he currently patronized had only one specialty and it did it quite well, The name of the place was Poly, a tiny but clean second-floor walk-up brothel in Knockturn Alley. The reception area had a few chairs for waiting, but its namesake was a locked glass case, backlit with purple light and mounted behind the host’s desk. Secured within the case was shelf after shelf of Polyjuice potion. Visiting patrons would bring a hair or other artifact and produce it to the host. The host would then unlock the cabinet, select a bottle from the shelf and drop the hair in, thus completing the potion in the patron’s full witness. Next, the host would disappear through an illuminated, beaded curtain into the back. After a few moments, he would call the patron back to one of the private rooms, where whomever the patron desired would be there waiting to do whatever he or she wanted. 

Poly's genius set-up with its intriguing premise ensured that not only could a patron carnally enjoy anyone alive or dead that they could get a piece of (including themselves), no one knew what the prostitutes actually looked like. Moreover, the most persistent rumor postulated that the prostitutes weren’t allowed mirrors when they transitioned, assuring absolute discretion. It was one of the best-kept secrets in Knockturn Alley and as a principal investor therein, Abraxas could—and did--exercise the privilege of indulging his needs whenever he wished, gratis. 

The catch, however, was that the prostitute had to be able to act. And currently, the one of which Abraxas availed himself could not. The real Robena had been intelligent and had always possessed a little bit of fire that she hid badly. This whore may have looked exactly like Robena down to the finest detail, but any time she opened her vacuous mouth, she ruined the fantasy. Abraxas made a mental note to lodge a complaint with the owner at his earliest convenience. 

The only thing that Abraxas could do at this point was to command her not to speak at all, and then envision how it had been with Robena at its best, maybe the time he had Cruciatus cursed her, Imperius cursed her, or, well, killed her. It was the thought that he had ultimately prevailed over her in a devastating and very final win that pushed Abraxas over the edge now. He finished with a groan of pleasure, his fingers still clenched around the facsimile’s hair. Without another word, he withdrew, got off the bed, dressed, and left, closing the door behind him.

Even spent, Abraxas felt irritable when by all rights he should have been elated. After all, he _had_ bested Robena unequivocally. Like Georgina before her, Robena had tried to kill him and failed, and he had paid her back for it tenfold. And like Georgina, Robena was gone; Abraxas had rid the wizarding world of yet another ambitious, devious Mudblood, this time quite finally. He had even managed to gain Lucius’ unswerving loyalty out of the ashes of his obvious grief. Abraxas should have felt better about that than anything else, but Lucius had become withdrawn and subdued, even with the gift of the demiguise cloak, something he had set his heart on months before. _Ah, well,_ Abraxas thought dismissively, _Hogwarts will sort him out, in any event._

Abraxas walked back down the stairs and out into Knockturn Alley. In the late afternoon, few witches and wizards milled about. Abraxas could not have cared less if anyone saw him exiting Poly; most of the people who had seen him averted their eyes immediately, and those who didn’t he stared down until they looked away. Having no further business in Knockturn Alley, Abraxas returned to Diagon Alley to run an errand at Gringott’s before it closed at five o’clock. Before he could go up the steps, however, he saw Cygnus Black coming from the other direction.

“Abraxas.” Cygnus waved at him cheerfully. 

“Cygnus.” Abraxas nodded. They clasped hands and elbows in the Coterie greeting. In seeing him, Abraxas did feel marginally better. Cygnus was his rock, steady through thick and thin, the silly episode with his meddling wife notwithstanding. And it wasn’t that Abraxas didn’t like Druella. He even bore a grudging respect for her grit and fearlessness; it was just that she had no business in the Coterie of Oberon. No woman did. 

“Are you on the way to St. Mungo’s?” Cygnus asked, pitching his voice low.

“No.” Abraxas frowned. “Why should I?”

“Have you not heard?”

Abraxas sighed in irritation. “Those four words in that order may be the least useful phrase in the English language, Cygnus.”

Cygnus smiled. “Sorry. I was talking about Francois Selwyn, of course. I thought for sure you would have heard. He’s near death with the Dragon Pox. I was there the other day and he said he would send for you. That’s the only reason I was surprised you hadn’t heard anything.”

Abraxas felt his brows go up. This was indeed concerning. “Dragon Pox?”

“I’m afraid so. It’s the Pernicious Strain, the one that affects the internal organs, shutting them down one at a time.” He shook his head sadly. “It’s a nasty business and the one place where we purebloods are at a disadvantage. Good thing it’s the _only_ disadvantage, eh, old boy?” He clapped Abraxas jovially on the arm with one hand. “In any case, you should stop by. I do think he wants to see you.”

Something ominous started to uncoil deep within Abraxas’ core. “Do they think it’s serious?” 

“Why, yes…were you even listening, Abraxas?”

Abraxas looked at Cygnus sharply. “I always listen.” 

Cygnus chuckled. “Of course, of course…”

“Well, I suppose I’d better go then,” Abraxas finished.

“Good, good.” Cygnus backed down the alley away from him. “Saturday next, Quidditch? Cannons versus Kestrels? The Cannons have a new Seeker, you know, a fine young man. Oh, and do bring Lucius. He can keep the girls company. All the best!”

Abraxas nodded at him once more and then walked in the other direction. Other witches and wizards greeted him, but Abraxas could only nod, his mind in turmoil from this news. He had seen Francois Selwyn not too long ago, and he had seemed tired and bit pale perhaps, but certainly not on death’s doorstep. Abraxas needed to see him immediately, not out of any compassionate spirit, but because he wanted to see for himself that Francois was actually that ill; if he was...Abraxas shook his head. He didn’t want to think of what that might mean for himself.

Abraxas walked out of Diagon Alley and followed the streets leading him to the defunct Purge and Dowse Ltd. The two dusty mannequins in the window were dressed in a deerstalker hat and a pointy-breasted knit dress, respectively. _Hideous Muggle rubbish,_ Abraxas thought with contempt as he entered the lobby. A quick conference with the reception witch and he was on his way to the second floor and Francois’ room.

The smell of the second floor made Abraxas' nose wrinkle in disgust; he hated hospitals: that cloying, sweet smell of sickness and death, the linoleum floors, the flickering fluorescent lights, and the general hopelessness and powerlessness of the sick and the dying. It all reminded him of Laila, as he had been and out of St. Mungo’s many times with her prior to her untimely passing. He straightened his shoulders; he would just try and be in and out as quickly as possible and then pour himself a stiff drink or three when he returned home. When Abraxas got to Francois’ room, the door was open a bit and the sound of stridorous breathing came from the bed, around which the curtain was drawn.

Abraxas knocked to announce his presence.

“Who-who is it?” came a rattling voice.

“It’s Abraxas Malfoy.”

“Come in…and shut…the door please.” 

Abraxas did as he was asked. His feet didn’t seem to want to take him over to the bed, afraid of what he might see. Still, he was the Archon, even here, and Francois was still a Neophyte over whom Abraxas had authority as well as a duty to protect. This was all to say nothing of Abraxas’ own Oath of Support that applied to Francois the same as it did to every member of the brotherhood. Pulling his shoulders back, Abraxas walked over to the bed. He drew the curtain aside and looked down at the figure therein. What Abraxas saw made him recoil.

Francois had lost at least two stone and he hadn’t been a husky lad to begin with. His cheeks and eyes had sunken into his sallow flesh and his skin had taken on a green hue. Scales had formed around his eyes and his lips, under his chin, and the bends of his elbows, and beads of blood had formed at the fissures between them. One potion tube ran out of each lung, plus three more from his abdomen, each running a different color potion. Around his chest were a series of bands and pneumatic tubes, hooked up to a magico-mechanical ventilator, assisting him to breathe. “I…was…hoping you…would come,” Francois said, his cracked lips seeming to have a hard time forming the words. “Please…sit.”

Feeling numb, Abraxas pulled up a brown vinyl-seated metal chair next to the bed and sat down. “How did this happen?”

Francois tried to smile, but it just looked like a grimace in his pain-wracked face. “Not sure. But…need to…tell you…something important.”

“What is it, Francois?”

Francois coughed violently for a moment, making the gauges on the ventilator temporarily spike, but as alarming as the fit was, it seemed to help him breathe better. When he recovered, Francois spoke in the same rattling voice, “You’re the only one who knows… _really_ knows…about me and Robena. I need you…to tell her about my condition. The Healers…say it’s…” He lapsed into silence, his eyes drifting to the side.

Abraxas leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You can tell me, Francois,” he said as gently as he cold.

“Transmitted sexually,” Francois whispered. 

An icy stab of dread lanced through Abraxas’ core and it took every ounce of discipline to keep the dismay he now felt from showing on his face. 

Francois coughed again. “The funny thing is…she’ll be fine…Mudbloods escape these things…unscathed…is what the Healers say…but she still needs to know…because she could be a carrier…without having…any of the symptoms.” 

“How—how did it start?” Abraxas asked. “The Dragon Pox, I mean.”

Francois opened his eyes. He took a deep breath. “I felt run-down…tired…and then I would get sharp stomach pains…I dismissed it as…bad food…overwork…” he laughed mirthlessly and it turned into another coughing spell. “Anything…to deny the truth…But I knew…oh, I knew…it only got worse after that…as it traveled…stomach, spleen, liver…now it’s in my lungs.” 

Abraxas stood, suddenly desperate to be anywhere but there. “Well,” he said bracingly, “I’m sure you’ll get better. When I leave here, I’ll see to it that the best Healers in St. Mungo’s take your case.”

Francois shook his head. “I’m dying, Abraxas. Orion Black is on…my case…there’s not a more…talented Healer in Merlin’s Realm.”

“Nonsense. You’re young and strong; you’ll get back on your feet.” Abraxas realized that he wasn’t just saying this to buck up Francois, but because he couldn’t face the implications for himself. 

“Tell Robena…I’m sorry…for everything.”

“Keep your chin up; you’ll feel better in no time,” Abraxas said. He drew the curtains closed and exited the room. At the Healer’s station, he commanded them to page Orion Black immediately. After a few minutes, Orion drifted onto the ward, as vague and distracted as always. Abraxas immediately pulled him into an empty room. “Surely Francois’ prognosis is not as bad as all that?” he said in lieu of any greeting.

“He’ll be dead in 48 hours at the most,” Orion said calmly. 

“Everything has been done for him?” Abraxas put all of his effort into at least acting as steady as Orion was by default.

“Yes. Had he come to us earlier, we could have kept it at bay, for years, if possible. Caught early, its progression can be slowed. But the Pernicious Strain of the disease is fatal in purebloods; it’s just a matter of time. He’s going to die, and soon.” With that, Orion turned and walked out without another word. 

There was nothing more to be said in any event. As if in a trance, Abraxas left the ward, walked back out to the storefront and Disapparated back to Malfoy Manor. Once there, the first thing that he did was to pour himself a double Firescotch and down it in seconds before pouring another. He drank this one more slowly as he sat in the small drawing room. It was too warm for a fire, but he did have candles lit and let those flames hypnotize him as he nursed his second drink and pondered what he had seen and learned that afternoon. 

Once he was calmer, Abraxas forced himself to think about the situation rationally. If Francois had a sexually-transmitted version of Dragon Pox, it was possible that Robena had not caught it from him. Furthermore, if she had caught it or was a carrier, it was possible that she had not transmitted it to Abraxas himself. The plausibility that he might have contracted the fatal disease was enough to drive Abraxas mad. With the confidence that his long-ago sterility ritual had given him, Abraxas had never taken a single precaution in the dozens if not hundreds of times he had taken Robena. He had been so assured of not accidentally impregnating her with the abomination of a half-blood, he had thought of naught else. The stark reality was that if she had caught Dragon Pox from Francois, the odds were dire that she had transmitted it to Abraxas. Dying slowly of a prolonged illness was one of Abraxas’ greatest fears after seeing one consume his beloved Laila. He would rather die in bed or at the hands of an enemy. 

_Like Robena?_ his conscience pricked at him. It was true: had the arrow been truly cursed, she would have succeeded. It was only her ignorance that had saved Abraxas in the end. _No,_ Abraxas decided. Robena deserved what he had done to her that day: three cursed arrows to end her life and punish her for having the unmitigated gall of trying to kill him with one of his own weapons. In fact, her end at his hands had been far more merciful than the filthy-blooded slut deserved. Still, in the end she had given him quite the sporting chase and even Abraxas had to admit that her wandless Gemini spell was an inspired and brilliant piece of magic. 

The only thing that bothered Abraxas about Robena’s death was that he never did find her body. He had seen her slip into the water after his third and final arrow had punctured her throat, but when he came up to the pool, Robena was gone. By then the storm and the water were so violent that Abraxas had no meaningful way to look for her. When the storm abated the following day, Abraxas tried again, but still failed to find her. Had he found Robena, he would have covered his tracks by awakening the manticore and ordering it to dispose of her remains without a trace. The other exceedingly strange aspect about Robena’s death was that it had strengthened the Mars Line not at all, when the death of a witch or wizard, even a Mudblood, should have given it a tremendous boost of energy. Abraxas sighed and took another generous gulp of his drink. Denying the Mars Line power was just one more spiteful thing in a line of spiteful things Robena March had done.

While the possibility of Robena’s body still lingering somewhere and waiting to be found so it could incriminate him bothered Abraxas, if it had truly had vanished, it would ultimately serve the same purpose as having the manticore destroy the evidence. Besides, it wasn’t as if Abraxas could do a thing about it either way. He drained his drink, went to the sideboard and poured another. Abraxas wanted nothing more than to forget everything with Francois, Robena, and the calamitous possibilities the whole affair presented. 

By ten o’clock, Abraxas was intoxicated enough to pass out in his own bed. He remained unconscious until about two in the morning, when he awoke to a noise just outside of his room. Someone was at the door. Every sense on alert, Abraxas drew his wand and sat up in bed, his head still spinning from the alcohol. Moonlight came through the windows, illuminating the door and the slowly turning doorknob. The door opened silently on hinges well-oiled by the house elves. Abraxas squinted, but all he could see was the pitch-black rectangle of the doorway itself. 

Abraxas waited, his heart beating in his ears. Through sheer force of will, he stilled his mind as panic threatened to overtake him. He was in control, always. A bare foot crept into the light, and then a second. The feet were pale and on the small side, definitely a woman’s feet. Abraxas swallowed. “Laila?” he called out softly.

“Wouldn’t that be nice, sir?” The voice was lower than Laila’s, intelligent, confident, and with just a hint of sarcasm. The figure to which the voice belonged must have lifted her head up because now Abraxas could now see green eyes, glowing like a cat’s in the darkness. “How pleasant that would be for you: a midnight visit from your late wife, to hold you and tell you that everything is going to be all right. But no, your guess is as incorrect as your moral compass.” 

_“Robena?”_

She stepped fully into the light now and Abraxas felt his breath catch in his throat. It was Robena all right, but a completely different version of her. Her eyes now were a bright green, like the poison frogs from the Amazon, with a lighter green corona about a midnight-black pupil. Her hair moved about her face in a fiery blaze, as if buffeted by an unseen wind. Sprouting from her shoulder joints were two massive and powerful wings, reddish-brown like her hair and iridescent as if glowing from within. Worst of all, gone from her face was any semblence of submission, timidity, or even conscience. In its place was a look of harsh and feral triumph. 

Abraxas knew he had not a moment to lose. He pointed his wand at her. _”Avada Ke—“_

“Hush.” She drew out the word and it felt like someone had detached Abraxas’ brain from his spinal cord. His entire body went limp and he fell back on the bed so all he could see was the molded ceiling. His wand fell from slack fingers to clatter on the floor next to the bed. Abraxas could hear Robena coming closer, not that her feet were making noise, but her entire being created a hum of ambient magical energy that grew louder as Robena approached the bed. 

“That won’t do,” she said, and Abraxas winced at the white-hot needles of pain each word forced into his brain. He felt himself partially sit up and now he could see Robena once again, standing next to the bed.

“What—are you going to do?” he asked, willing his voice not to waver.

Robena’s brows knit as if in thought. “I’m not completely sure yet as to specifics. In general, I can tell you that I’m going to make you wish I had succeeded with the arrow on my last day in your employment.”

Abraxas shook his head. “But this is just a dream.”

That brought a cruel smile to Robena’s face. “Of course it is. The time I spent here…” she sighed and looked around. “I was in your world; you controlled it and me utterly. Now you’re in mine and I control it and you utterly.” 

“But I killed you.”

Robena laughed then, a strange and terrible sound like thunder rumbling and tree branches rubbing together, once again bringing keen and piercing darts to the back of Abraxas’ skull. “And you thought that would be the end.” The power of her voice darkened the room to absolute darkness and Abraxas felt himself falling. He reached out for anything to grasp and found nothing but cold air. Faster and faster he fell.

He landed in the woods of his own parkland, next to the brook and the pool. Overhead the sky had darkened and lightning pierced the sky. The pool eddied with a strange blue light. Slowly, Abraxas stood, a sick sense of doom starting deep within him. However, he didn’t have time to dwell on it because he felt a sudden stabbing agony and saw a triple-bladed, bloody hunting tip and arrow shaft suddenly burst from the left side of his ribcage. He turned quickly but saw no one there. Abraxas felt a second impact and another arrowhead broke through the right. 

The pool’s color and light intensified and a pulsing sound came from within. A sudden pain ripped through his throat and Abraxas tumbled head-first into the swirling water. He was falling again, down and down, realizing too late what had happened to Robena and why he had never found her body. He couldn’t begin to fathom how she had cheated death to become a siren, but the pieces were falling into place now of a very real outcome he couldn’t possibly ignore. Abraxas landed back in his bed, once more with Robena standing over him, looking at him with mild curiosity. 

“Abraxas,” she said. “I can call you that now, right? We’ve become intimate enough to be on a first-name basis, I think, to dispense with any formality between us.” Robena sat on the edge of the bed. Abraxas wanted nothing more than to shy away from her, but once again found that he couldn’t move. She smiled slightly. “I mean, personally, I really feel as if we’ve finally come to a place of equal footing…well, not _equal;_ I’m superior to you in every way and always have been, but now I’m finally in a place where I can exercise it, do you know what I mean?”

“What do you want?” Abraxas asked with clenched teeth.

“Balance."

“So you intend to revenge yourself upon me.”

“That’s not what I said,” Robena admonished him. “Honestly, Abraxas, I thought you had a better understanding of nuance. You see, I now have the entirety of human knowledge stored in my mind, one of the best perks of my new incarnation, but certainly not the only one, as I’m about to show you. The point is, I now have a very specific tally of all that you have wrought.” She took a deep breath. “In the time I was under your employ, you raped me 111 times. You sodomized me five times. You forced me to perform other miscellaneous acts of perversion 33 times. You called me a Mudblood 219 times. You struck me 78 times. You threatened me 62 times. You Imperius cursed me four times. You Cruciatus cursed me once.” She smiled. “Oh, and you killed me.” Robena tilted her head to the side. “It really is quite the butcher’s bill.”

“All of which I would do ten times over again,” Abraxas spat.

“Very well,” Robena replied, non-plussed. “If that is what it takes to restore balance, I shall pay you back tenfold for your transgressions against me. Now, let’s discuss balance as far as Daphne—that’s the name of the siren you held captive; I’m sure you never bothered to learn it—and Georgina are concerned.”

Abraxas groaned. “Are you going to talk me to death?” 

Robena raised an eyebrow. “First of all, that’s rude, Abraxas. And second of all, no. If you’re in a hurry, we can start now.” 

“I can always wake up, you realize.”

Robena flashed her cruel grin once again. “Of course you can. But you have to sleep sometime, and each time you do, from tonight until the night that you die, I am going to lie in wait, fully capable of doing whatever I want to you, leveraging my considerable power against your helpless body and mind.” She dropped her voice to a whisper, once again sending agony into Abraxas’ psyche, “Sound familiar?” She then pitched her voice back to a normal volume. “But you’re right: enough talk.” She raised both of her hands and then clapped them together, creating a tremendous reverberation to vibrate down Abraxas’ entire spine and make everything go dark again.

After a few moments, the world brightened and Abraxas almost wept with relief. He was waking up. It had just been a nightmare, but now it was morning and the sun was coming through the windows of Malfoy Manor. Suddenly, a lancing pain ripped through his abdomen making him yell. Abraxas opened his eyes fully to see a giant golden eagle looming over him, penetrating his belly savagely with its curved beak. The eagle had the same reddish-brown plumage as Robena’s wings, the same unworldly green eyes. 

Abraxas tried to fend it off with his hands, but found that he had none; he was no longer a man, but a snake, with green scales identical to the ones covering Francois’ sickly face and body. Without mercy, the Robena-eagle tore violently at his midsection. Abraxas screamed in agony and horror as the raptor pulled at his entrails, stretching them longer and longer until they snapped, before swallowing them whole and then going at him again as blood poured out of the gaping hole. The pain was excruciating but little was worse than the abject feeling of helplessness from just lying there unable to defend himself as the predator did what it wanted to him. The eagle brought its beak down again, ripping into him.

 _Wake up, wake up, wake up!_ Abraxas thought in a panic. He wrenched his eyes open and sat up, breathing hard. The eagle was gone, the bright light was gone, and his room was once again dark, but he still had a searing pain in his abdomen, intense enough to double him over. Still shaking from the dream, Abraxas grabbed his wand and cast Lumos before stumbling into the bathroom. Once there, he lit a lamp before the pain folded him in half and he had to hold onto the sink for leverage. _Abdominal pain; that was one of Francois’ early signs,_ Abraxas thought grimly.

Finally the throbbing abated enough for him to stand. He didn’t want to look for it, much less find it, but knew the one sure-fire sign of Dragon Pox, just as every witch and wizard did. The diagnostic test was easy, a simple hand gesture, but every part of him resisted. Slowly, Abraxas lifted up his right hand. He swallowed and turned his hand palm out and then slowly let his fingers drift apart. “No,” he breathed, as the tell-tale green, dry, peeling skin showed prominently at the vee of his fingers. 

_She’s won._ The thought infuriated Abraxas and without hesitation he closed his fist and punched the mirror. With a crash, the surface spiderwebbed out, fracturing his own enraged reflection. He punched it again and again, as bright shrapnel incised his knuckles and flew on the floor along with his own blood. Abraxas hit the mirror until he had lacerated away the evidence of his inevitable doom between his fingers. Another abdominal pain doubled him over and Abraxas had to lie on the marble floor, tucked in a fetal position amongst the mirror shards and flecks of blood. His right hand was a gory mess. Now that his anger was starting to fade, it started to sting almost to out-compete the pain in his viscera. 

Even knowing what he would find, Abraxas lifted his undamaged left hand and peered between the fingers there, only to find the same green, dry skin. He didn’t know what else he could have possibly expected, but he still had to look to confirm his worst fears. Thoroughly defeated, Abraxas rested his head on the floor once more and started to chuckle. He couldn’t believe it. He, Abraxas Malfoy, had been bested by a Mudblood, just when he had let his guard down, just when he had believed himself safe. His laughter turned into sobbing as he lost the last desperate shred of the control in which he prided himself. If her nightmares didn’t do him in, her Dragon Pox would. And there was nothing on Merlin’s fair earth he could do about it.

Robena March had won.

THE END.


End file.
